


Who Can Sail Without the Wind?

by vasaris



Series: Whose Walls Already Rise [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), The Epic of Gilgamesh
Genre: F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M, No Beta, Rough Trade April 2015, Temporary Character Death, dubious consent/non-con elements, historical rape referenced/discussed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:34:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vasaris/pseuds/vasaris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Federation has re-captured Khan.</p><p>The Immortals that remain after the so-called Eugenics Wars cannot allow that to stand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Archive 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the April 2015 Rough Trade Immortality Challenge.
> 
> In fairness, this was pretty much an excuse to put the lovely voices of Peter Wingfield and Benedict Cumberbatch in the same room. The fact that they're pretty individually is just a bonus.
> 
> Art by the amazing Marlislash Gabs

Datafile 0.031674 (Corrupted)

His dreams are edged in the cold of the void, ice-fanged vipers that strike and slither through his mind with caustic cruelty.  Flame-bright deserts give way to dagger-toothed peaks; fertile valleys and grassy plains transform to ice-choked tundra.  Hot-salt tears freeze upon his cheeks as he tumbles through landscapes unimaginable; a long and inglorious fall through frozen time and bleeding memory.

Loneliness grips him in bitter coils, a steadfast companion of centuries.  Under its gaze his rage falls to ashes, giving way to the crushing dual weight of failure and despair.  He, once a great king, a revered ruler of men – who had stridden through time itself, proud, strong and unbroken – shattering to dust, a diamond struck by hammerblows.

He cannot wake.  He cannot rest.

There is no escape.

He.

Falls.

 

Datafile 1:

“You know, Mac, Richard Dawson is not the most subtle of assumed identities,” drawled Methos, splaying his long, lanky form over the worn leather couch like an indolent cat.  “Anyone who knows you would find it.”

The man currently known as Capt. Richard Dawson quirked a small smile, running his hand through his hair.  “I’m hardly trying to hide from one of _us,_ Methos.”

“I suppose not.”  Methos lifted his glass of lager – real alcohol, thank you very much, none of that pointless synthehol garbage – and took a long drink.  “It still seems strange to be on Earth and not have to… be concerned.”

“I know,” Duncan MacLeod raised his whiskey to his lips, taking a small sip.  “The Game is over, and yet I still feel naked without a blade.”

Methos grimaced.  “Which is why I never go without one.”

“You spend most of your time at Halcyon, Methos, why would you need a sword?”

“I spend most of my time in space, thank you very much, and because Klingons are generally very surprised when you start cutting their limbs off.”  He took another long draught.  “Aggressive little bastards.  Although the bat’leth is an interesting weapon and fun to work against.”

Duncan laughed and set his drink aside.

“You’re not going to distract me by talking about the Klingons, Methos.  You invited me here for a reason.”

Mac gestured to the well-appointed Parisian apartment that Methos kept on Earth, for all that he spent little time there.  Under normal circumstances it was used by their network of Terran-based Immortals who monitored known pre-immortal bloodlines.  None of them wanted a repeat of the Eugenics Wars and the bloodbath that had followed.  Never again would they stand idly by while known immortals were at the mercy of governments.

“Khan,” said Methos calmly, meeting Duncan’s eyes in cool seriousness.  “Starfleet has him.”

“Methos,” Mac started and then shook his head.  “He drove a ship into San Francisco.  If not for intervention, he would have destroyed all life on Earth.  Thousands _died_ , Methos.”

“He is an immortal in the hands of government.”  The words dropped into the air between them like heavy stones.  “They’ve _already_ used his blood as part of a medical experiment.”

“You shouldn’t know that,” said Duncan.

“Neither should you,” Methos shot back. “Does it matter how I found out?”

Duncan turned dark eyes to look out the window, staring at the graceful lines of Le Tour d’Eiffel.

“Methos, he’s in cryosleep, him and his crew.  Starfleet has a policy against experimenting on sentients –”

“For all the good that it will do any of them.”  Methos stared hard at his friend, frowning when Duncan refused to meet his eyes. “I read Dr. McCoy’s medical reports, Duncan.  He’s already speculating about immortality and the research that should be done.  He’s about a nanometer from working out that Khan is far older than anyone thinks.  He thinks that he brought that Captain of his back from the dead, Duncan.”

MacLeod shuddered.  “Christ.  I haven’t read the medicals, just the situation briefings.”

“There’s no way to say to him, no, your Captain was just pre-immortal and died violently enough to become a true-immortal.  There was no need to shoot him up with Khan’s blood, you just managed to make Kirk’s first awakening _excruciatingly_ unpleasant.  I won’t even go into what happened with the damn tribble he natters on about.”

“Fuck.”

“Great buggering hell, you mean.” Duncan met his eyes, shoulders slumping in resignation.  “They cannot be left with Starfleet, Duncan.  It will be the same thing all over again.  Only this time they’ll assume we’re all engineered or somehow descended from those that were.  The penalty for that is death, even now.”

Duncan smiled mirthlessly.  “I know.  We have no right to exist, after all.”

“We might try and take over the world.” Methos tossed back his drink.  “History.  Written by the victors – or the survivors as the case may be.  They never acknowledge that they asked Khan and the others to take control, to use centuries of wisdom to create peace and prosperity.  They only focus on the fact that in the end immortals are humans too.  Competition and war were inevitable.”

“You sound like you’re defending him.”

Methos hesitated.

“I knew him,” he said finally.  “I knew him before his first death.  We ran into one another time and again, over millennia.  Once, he was my friend – one of the best and most loyal that I have ever known.”

“You did?” asked Duncan, surprised.  “I had no idea.”

“I knew him – your Cassandra knew him,” Methos’ lip curled slightly.  “He was a great king and a great builder.  Proud and strong and cunning without measure.  Passionate – about people, about his causes.  In some ways you remind me of him, when he was young.”

Duncan tossed back his whiskey.  “How flattering.”

Methos rolled his eyes.

“Honestly, MacLeod.” MacLeod flushed and looked away.  “The world needed monsters to rally against. Who better than us?”

"You don’t have to tell me. I do remember.”

“Do you?” A wry smile quirked Methos’ lips.

“I’m not so young as I used to be,” said Duncan. “Nor so foolish.”

“You’ll always be an over-idealistic infant, MacLeod. Always running to help those in need.”

Duncan smiled, bitter and sweet. “It’s hardly my fault that you’re a million-year-old master manipulator, old man.”

 

 

When the two parted, Methos was content in the knowledge that MacLeod would start the work necessary to free the immortals currently held without trial or conviction.  For a moment, Methos missed their friend Amanda with a fierce pang.  The lovely thief had died at the hands of angry mortals when the world went mad.  It would have taken little enough effort to convince her to try and steal a bunch of cryotubes from Starfleet.  She'd have done it for kicks.

Shaking his head, Methos turned his feet toward the transporter station, purchasing a ticket for Lhasa.  It was time to prepare to head home.

“It took you long enough,” said the woman who has called herself Cassandra for millennia.  Her presence burned like sunlight upon the golden savannah.  Long brown hair tumbled down her back, streaked golden by time recently spent in the equatorial sun.  Cassandra was, as she had always been, beautiful, graceful, and innately deadly.

“You could have come,” he said blandly. “Duncan would have been pleased to see you.”

"Bitch.” The word crossed her tongue without rancor.  “You’ve always been such a little fuck.”

“I beg your pardon, lady goddess, but I'm fairly certain you know better than that.”

Cassandra laughed, husky and sweet, and their long, vicious history unspooled between them, littered with poison and shattered obsidian.  Time had never softened the edges of their mutual hate, or blunted the memories of atrocity and revenge.  Forgiveness wasn’t in either of their lexicons, but they’d learned to work together.

“We will get him back,” she said, confident.  “Duncan may have to burn his current ID, but he’ll see to it.”

“I know.” They stared at one another for a moment, settling into a companionable silence as she lead him to their ground transport.

“Tia is ready,” she said at last, unlocking the vehicle’s doors.  “The last of the artifacts are ready for transport.”

“And Ba'al?”

She wrinkled her nose.  If Methos still held a smoldering hatred for her, Ba’al’s had finally calmed to the flare of a supernova.  The two remained icily polite to one another, but it was never wise to strain Ba’al’s tolerance for long.

“He says the databases are ready.  Nike sent a message a couple of hours ago.  The final inspections are complete at Halcyon.”

“Good.”  He watched the landscape go by with an odd melancholy.  “It will be good to be finally done with Earth.”

“Methos.”

“Is that a touch of concern I hear?” He looked at her.  Cassandra huffed.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I know you feel it, too.  The fading connection.  The call to be elsewhere.  They don’t need us any more, if they ever did.”

Cassandra bit her lip, turning the transport off of the rocky path they had been on and heading into what mortals still thought was uncharted wilderness.

“All the eldest of us do,” she said finally.  “Earth makes me itch.  And yet…”

“It has always been home.”

They both sighed and she brought the transport to a stop by a weathered outcropping. Methos tapped a series of passwords into a small device mounted temporarily on the dash of the vehicle and the cliff face vanished into nothingness.

“I remember when we spread stories of such things,” said Cassandra.  “When we told mighty tales of magic and great heroes.  Now it’s almost mundane.”

Methos laughed.

“Clarke’s Law, I suppose.”

“Do you ever wonder what modern men would accept as being magic?” asked Cassandra as she parked in what was actually a large hangar-bay.

“I haven’t recently,” said Methos as the two picked their way through pallets of environmentally sealed boxes that held a wealth of human and Immortal history.  Three large shuttlecraft sat waiting, their cargo doors open as sleek robots trundled purposefully by, loading the vehicles with swift efficiency.

“Do you ever wonder about what _we_ accepted as magic?”

“No,” Ba’al’s low, smooth voice interrupted coolly, his presence crackling over Methos like lightning.  “Ishtar. Me’tas.”

“Balathu.”

Ba’al’s eyebrow rose in sardonic acknowledgement.  “Cassandra.  Methos.  Tia is eager to see you both.”

“She saw me just a few days ago,” said Methos.

“Which is more than she’s seen of you in close to a century.”  Ba’al’s dark eyes swept over Cassandra.  “Rooms have been prepared if you want to refresh yourself.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but said nothing, heading silently toward the guest quarters.

“Is it something I said?” asked Ba’al.

“You’re being an ass.”

“That’s hardly news.  I’m always an ass.”  Ba’al led him further into the complex.  “Tia said she has found something amazing in the depths of the archives.”

“Found?” asked Methos, intrigued.  “How can she find something in an archive that she built from the ground up?”

“That’s what I asked,” said Ba’al.  “But she insists that what she’s found isn’t in the records, but refused to show me what she’s talking about until you arrived.”

Ba’al led them through a security door.  A young woman looked up, her dark hair piled sloppily atop her head.  Pale eyes widened, flaring with unbridled joy.  Her presence flowed over them, singing of distant stars and crackling with energy.  Methos stopped, heart-struck as he always was when he saw her, marveling at her beauty and how much she resembled her mother and her father.

“Papa!” she called, standing up and beckoning him with spread arms, as she had when she was just a child. He moved without thought, sweeping her into his embrace and burying his nose in her sweet-scented hair.

“Tiamat,” he breathed, holding her close.  “Daughter.”

“Just Tia, papa.  You know this.” Her arms tightened around him.  “I have missed you so.”

“Tia.”

“I’m sorry.  It hasn’t even been that long.  I know.”  She pulled out of his embrace and held out a hand to Ba’al.  “Dad.”

Ba’al came forward and hugged her briefly.

“Ishtar headed for her rooms.”

“Cassandra,” admonished Tia.  “She hasn’t used Ishtar in millennia.”

“She will always be Ishtar-of-the-slaughter to me,” said Ba’al.

“You are no more innocent than she,” said Tia.  “But I’m tired of the argument.  As long as you’re civil and stop trying to cut out her heart whenever you see her, we’ll be good.”

“I haven’t tried to bend her over and spill out her intestines in at least twenty years.”

“See to it you make it at least a thousand more,” said Tia tartly.

“For you, daughter, anything.”

“See to it!”

They all laughed.

“So, papa.  Your friend Duncan…”

“He’s working on a plan to rescue Khan and the others.”

“Will he need help?  Nike will be here in a few days in the _Pagan Solstice_.”

Methos hummed.  “I thought the _Corpus Homini_ was in orbit.”

“It is,” said Tia.  “But it’s only outfitted with Warp drive for use within the Federation.  The _Pagan Solstice_ has Áedán and Arthfael’s hyperdrives.  The _Corpus_ can outrun anything the Federation has – honestly, the Vulcans have had warp drive for _how_ long and can barely manage warp six without blowing their core? – but the _Pagan Solstice_ can get us home much sooner.”

“There is that,” said Methos.  “Although – Nike.”

“Papa.”

“Tia.”

“She doesn’t hate you anymore.”

Methos grunted noncommittally.  “It just seems unreasonable to make me work with women who have spent a lot of time wanting to gut me.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Tia.  “Cassandra wants to do a lot more than gut you.”

Ba’al smiled.  “We should compare notes, given all the things I’d love to do to her.”

“No,” said Tia firmly.  “We’ve all grown up.  Torturing one another for personal satisfaction is something we should have grown out of by now.”

“Uh-huh,” said Methos.  “I’ll get to work on that.  Ba’al said that you had something to show us.”

“I do.” She moved over to the table and pulled out an environmentally sealed box.  “I found this in the oldest part of the archive, but I have no idea who put it there, or when.  Dad, if you could seal the room and have it match the box’s environment, please?”

Ba’al nodded, heading to the door-lock.  The air in the room grew simultaneously richer and drier, the oxygen mix changing slightly.  The box beeped as the room’s environment registered as viable for its contents and Tia pressed a button on the side.  The sides of the container retreated, revealing a series of carven figures that caused Methos to stop breathing, heart-struck and shuddering.

Ba’al uttered a pained moan as he saw them, approaching the table with a shuffling gait.

Dark eyes flashed with grief as Ba’al’s finger hovered over one of them.

“Shamhat.”  The figurine was exquisite, carved from what looked to be river-stone.  The extraordinary beauty of Shamhat-of-the-Temple had been caught in perfect detail, from the strength of her body to the curve of her cheek.  Methos sat heavily in a chair, simply staring at it.

“Your mother,” he said simply, meeting Tia’s eyes briefly before examining the other figures.  Tia had clustered three female statues together and Methos nearly laughed, pulling the other man down beside him. “Ba’al, look.  The women’s council.”

“What?”

“Arahunna, Zakiti, and Erishti.” The three stood much as they had so long ago, forming an assemblage he’d later seen in images of the triune goddess – maiden, mother, crone.

“And Gilgamesh the king,” said Ba’al, knocking the final statue over.  “Your father.  _Khan._ ”

Tia righted the statue.  “Dad.”

“He has reason enough to dislike Gilgamesh,” said Methos, brushing a hand against Ba’al’s cheek.  “And me, come to that.  I was the one who saw to your conception.”

Ba’al leaned slightly into the touch, lifting a hand to grasp his fingers.

“No,” said Ba’al.  “ _That_ isn’t the reason I dislike him.”

Methos raised an eyebrow at him.

“You loved him,” said Ba’al simply.  “You loved him and he let that –”

“Stop,” said Methos.  “He was young and a fool, I grant.  But so was I.”

“You shouldn’t defend him.”

“We _all_ had a hand in what happened,” said Methos.

Ba’al grunted.

“He still hurt you.”

“Whatever did I do to deserve you as a friend?”

“You taught me how to savor cunt,” said Ba’al thoughtfully. “That’s been useful for millennia.  Freed my wife-to-be from Ishtar’s clutches.  Saw to it that we would have a child.  I don’t know.  You didn’t do anything really.”

“I… did not need to know that, Dad.”

“Your mother used to say that he was hung like the king of oxen and had better stamina,” said Ba’al.  “And I can tell you, that’s completely true.”

“Papa, make him stop.”

“Tia, dearest, I didn’t when I helped him raise you.  What makes you think I’m going to start now?” Methos raised an eyebrow at her.  “You do know about cunnilingus, yes?  If not, I need permission to steal your current sexual partner and make sure they understand how important your pleasure is, and how to achieve it if they’re that ignorant.”

Tia covered her face with her hands.

 


	2. Archive 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiamat, daughter of Shamhat, needs some information.
> 
> Also, sex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non-consensual elements to an encounter on a dancefloor.

Datafile 0.163749 (Corrupted)

Landing is as terrible as the fall.  He lies upon concrete, bones shattered to splinters of agony and withering torment.  He can but lay there, staring vaguely up at familiar architecture, and wait for the healing to complete.  He can feel the jigsaw fragments of bone move unnervingly beneath his skin, cutting their way through muscle and flesh as they reassemble and fuse.  A scream hides behind his teeth as his bones re-form and muscle, tendon, and ligament re-knit.

He shuts his eyes and breathes sharply against the pain.  A fleeting touch brushes against his forehead, scented of cordite and antiseptic.  He turns his head, inhaling as deeply as he can and seeking more of the unsought comfort.

“John,” he whispers, before opening his eyes.

 

Datafile 2:

The transporter hub in San Francisco was one of the most beautiful in the world.  Lieutenant Elise Malone of Starfleet loved being there, seeing the sweeping architecture and the historical and artistic exhibits that dotted the port.  She never minded waiting to meet her girlfriend, Dr. Hypatia S. Balsdottir, because it gave her more time to explore the station.

“Elise!” Tia’s pure contralto carried easily through the busy room and Elise looked up, smiling at the dark-haired woman approaching.

“Tia!” Abandoning any decorum demanded by the uniform she wore, Elise ran to her lover.  “Your family has the worst fucking timing, I swear.”

“Oooh, language,” said Tia, reeling her in for a kiss. A gentle hand ran hand down Elise’s curves before Tia pulled her off the main concourse and into the shadow behind a statue of George Kirk.  “They may be crazy, weird, and have fucked up timing but they’re mine and they love me.”

Elise leaned in, stealing one kiss and then another.  “We’ve only got a few days before I ship out.”

“I know.” Tia’s hand slipped under the short, regulation skirt of Elise’s uniform.  “You’ll be gone for years.”

“Yes.  Oh!” Elise sighed as Tia slipped her fingers past the coarse Starfleet issued panties and started rubbing. “Hypatia, we’re in public.”

“Mmmmhmmm.” Tia pulled her hand from under Elise’s skirt and licked her fingers, wetting them generously.  “Admiral Archer is just over there, Lieutenant, admiring that painting of the Golden Gate.”  Tia shifted slightly, maneuvering Elise into the corner made by the statue and the wall. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuuuck,” whispered Elise as Tia’s wicked fingers returned, sliding over her clit and rubbing _exactly_ the way that Elise loved best.  Elise parted her thighs a bit more in silent invitation, biting back a moan as Tia’s long fingers pressed into her, curling slightly on the down stroke and making Elise see stars.

“That’s right,” Tia murmured against her ear, casually blocking anyone’s line of sight.  “You’re so wet, baby.  I bet you can take another finger.”

 “God, yes.  Please.” Elise rocked against the invading fingers as they fucked her open. “More.”

Tia chuckled, slipping in a third and grinding her palm against Elise’s clit with the most perfect pressure.  Elise choked back a wanton cry, whimpering softly.

“Guess who just transported in?  The Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.” whispered Tia, fingers slowing to an almost leisurely pace.  “Captain Kirk and Commander Spock.  The commander is part Vulcan, isn’t he?”

“Y-yes.”

“Do you suppose he can hear?  Vulcan’s have very sensitive hearing.” Tia’s fingers moved with sweet deliberation, and Elise could hear the faint, obscene slide as they pumped in and out of her wetness.  “They have very sensitive noses, so I hear.”  Lips brushed the shell of her ear.  “Do you think he can smell you?”

Elise came hard on her lover’s fingers, glancing over her shoulder, through the small space left between the wall and the statue’s plinth, to where the Commander stood, looking in their general direction.

“Oh, my God.” Elise gripped Tia’s arms tightly, orgasm crashing through her again as Spock seemed to meet her eyes. “Tia.”

“That’s my name, wear it out as much as you like.” The hand slipped out from beneath her skirt and Tia brought the shining digits to her mouth, sucking them clean, one by one.  “You taste so good, baby.”

“Oh, Christ Jesus.  You’re wicked.”

Tia just laughed, sweeping her into a less carnal embrace.  “So I’ve been told, by many and sundry.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, I can wait,” said Tia.  “It’s your last weekend home for the next five years, love.  I’ve got us a swank hotel room and a bed that demands debauchery.”

“I’ve still got to finish packing up my apartment,” protested Elise.

“What, two dishes, a cup, and a sleeping bag?”  Tia led her straight past Kirk and Spock where they spoke to Admiral Archer. Elise pretended that she didn’t see the Commander’s nostrils twitch, because noticing it would mean having to admit that he knew that she’d just been well fucked.  “Please, it’ll take you about thirty seconds to set to rights before the movers show up to take your boxes to storage.”

“That’s… pretty accurate.”

“Of course it is,” said Tia.  “I’m very observant.”

Elise rolled her eyes as Tia led her to the curb.  A dark transport pulled up immediately, the passenger door opening wide at Tia’s touch.

Elise climbed into the back, absently noting that it was an AI-driven vehicle with nothing but space in the back.  Tia clambered in after her, smirking as she knelt at Elise’s feet, gently pushing her knees apart.  Elise barely felt the transport move as Tia sucked kisses into her inner thighs.

“Top down,” said Tia, and instantly the roof seemed to fade into nonexistence.  Air rushed over Elise, pulling at her hair as though she really was in a convertible driving down open roads. Elise shuddered at the conscious fulfillment of one of her fantasies.

“Are you ready?” her lover asked, fingers playing at the edge of her panties.  “The AI will drive until I tell it to take us to the hotel.”

Elise raised her hips, allowing Tia to pull the sodden undergarments from her body.  She made quick work of her uniform dress, letting the warm, rushing air caress her body.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

“It’s done,” said Tia, as she sat at the commconsole in the luxury hotel room she’d requested for the next few days.  Elise lay insensate in the next room, still wet from sweat and sex.  “It was easy enough to crack once I got her partial codes.”

“Good.”  Cassandra looked pleased.  “It’s a pity that we’re losing her to a five-year mission.  It’s not often we find someone so easy to manipulate.”

“So easy to fuck and fuck over, you mean?” Tia ran a hand through her hair.  “She’s a sweet girl.  I hate doing this to her.”

“She’ll never know,” said Cassandra.  “In five years, she’ll be back from her deep-space mission, likely with a new, shipboard lover, and you will be long gone, to a world she’ll never see.”

“Perhaps.” Tia’s fingers twitched.  “Transmitting now.  Let Nike know that Duncan and I have a meeting set up in Anchorage on Friday.  If she wants to be in on the theft of the current millennium, she should be there.”

“It’s Khan,” said Cassandra.  “She’ll be there.”

The communication feed cut out and Tia sighed, standing up.  She padded through the luxurious space, crunching her toes into the deep pile of the carpet.  There was a small, stocked kitchen in the corner, and she pulled out a selection of finger foods and a surprisingly good wine.  Tia loaded a tray and headed toward the bedroom, where she could hear the faint sounds of a body stirring.

“Knock, knock,” she said.

“Mmmmmfph,” came the reply.  “That was amazing.”

Elise pushed herself up languidly, her long, amber-gold hair floating around her like a halo.

“Sex with you is always amazing, baby,” said Tia, setting the tray on one of the bedside tables.

“But this,” said Elise.  “How many fantasies do you intend to fill?”

Tia filled a glass with wine and passed it over.

“You’ll be gone a long, long time, baby girl,” Tia filled her own, and took a sip, savoring the flavor of real wine and real alcohol.  “I don’t want you to forget me.”

“Like I could,” said Elise. “You taught me to _savor_ pussy, to lap it up it like this fine, fine wine.”

Tia choked on her next sip.

“I did _not_ teach you to lap wine.”

“But you did teach me to lap up cunt.” Elise set her glass aside, taking Tia’s from suddenly nerveless fingers.  “And, it’s a lesson I’m grateful for.”

“Are you?” asked Tia as Elise put her hand-to-hand training to use, tumbling her to the bed

“Oh, very.” Elise slid between her thighs, spreading them wide as Tia buried her hands in that long, amber-gold hair.  “Shall I show you?”

“Do.”

 

 

Tia spent the next days focused upon Elise.  The young lieutenant had been an easy target for seduction – a sweet girl, but plain by modern standards and lacking confidence in anything but her intellectual prowess.  She had been easy to manipulate, in bed and outside of it, and her use was at an end – but Tia didn’t want to leave Elise with gaping emotional wounds.

Elise was sweet and kind, with an innocence and enthusiasm that deserved to be protected to the best of Tia’s ability.

Which meant not only covering her trail when she hacked Starfleet using Elise’s passwords to bypass certain irritating security levels, but laying down false ones pointing to some of Starfleet’s more egregious _actual_ security holes.  Cassandra called her soft-hearted and foolish for trying to protect the girl Tia had cold-bloodedly seduced out of her virginity for access to Starfleet and their starships, for caring about her mark, but unlike Cassandra, Tia didn’t think of dealing with mortals as being an endless covert war.

“She won’t thank you,” said Cassandra, voice biting in her earpiece as Tia watched her lover try on some rather slutty casual-wear for use on shore leave.

“Why, thank you for that advice, Aunt Cassie,” said Tia, smiling at Elise’s sexual confidence as she twirled in a short, silken dress that revealed more than it concealed, and taunted the onlooker with flashes of sweet flesh.  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

“Hello, Aunt Cassie,” called Elise as she sauntered back into the changing room, fully aware of the eyes that followed the sensual sway of her hips.

“You’re a fool.” Cassandra’s voice was resigned.  “But I suppose it’s only for a few more days.”

“I’m not,” said Tia calmly as Elise came back out dressed in jeans and holding half-a-dozen outfits designed to draw the eye and taunt the looker.  Elise headed over to make her purchases with a small wave and Tia lowered her voice.  “When I see her off to the _Enterprise_ , she’ll think breaking up is her idea.  She’ll hurt but she won’t be broken.”

“Why does it matter?”

Tia sighed.

“This is the reason my parents hate you, you know.  I shouldn’t have to explain the rudiments of what might be considered common decency to you.”

“Oh, my little viper,” cooed Cassandra. “My sweet dragon.  You fucked that girl for a purpose and it wasn’t love.  You keep fucking her because you turned her into a responsive lay.  Don’t let the sweetness of that tight little cunt blind you.”

“It hasn’t,” said Tia, smiling at Elise as she approached.  “Look, Auntie, I’ll see you on Friday after my meeting, okay?”

“Be grateful you won’t be seeing me sooner,” said Cassandra.  “At this point I’m tempted to take the girl and simply deal with her myself.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Tia retorted coolly, cutting the connection.

“Trouble at home?”

“Just Aunt Cassie being overprotective.  She’s like that, sometimes.”

Elise rolled her eyes.

“Come on, it’s time for ice cream.”

“Ice cream?”

Elise tucked her fingers into the waistband of Tia’s pants and pulled her forward.

“Some kind of cream, anyway.”

Tia surrendered, laughing, to Elise’s kiss.

 

 

“Are you even willing to let the girl out of your sight?” asked Cassandra, cool tones cutting through the noise of the nightclub where Tia stood in a secluded alcove on a private stretch of the balcony.  Below her, Elise danced in silken splendor, sexual energy sparking from every liquid movement as she made her way through the dance floor.  Every eye was drawn to her, the great beauty of her womanhood on display in all of its glory.  Tia took immense pleasure in seeing Elise's passion, confidence and grace, and did not much care for having her attention diverted.

“Seriously?” Tia turned and glared.  “Have you always been a fucking creepy stalker and I just missed it?”

“I am concerned.”

“She’s leaving the day after tomorrow, for fuck’s sake.  It’s not like I’m going to run away with the _Enterprise._   They aren’t exactly a traveling circus.”

“Caring is not an advantage,” said Cassandra, tossing her drink back with a grimace.  “And why didn’t you choose a place that serves real alcohol?”

“I did,” said Tia, taking a sip of her _excellent_ whiskey.  “But you have to ask for that menu.”

“Bitch,” Cassandra accused.

“Poxridden whore,” Tia returned without looking.  “You’re not my mother.  Fuck, at this late date you can’t even be considered much older than me.”

“You’re just like your father,” said Cass.  “Only prettier and sharper witted.”

Tia let out an unexpected peal of laughter.

“Tia!” Elise’s arms wrapped around her, hot and sweating from the dancefloor.  “Who’s your friend?”

Cassandra raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“This… is Inanna,” said Tia, causing Cassandra to wince at the ancient alias.

“Oooh,” said Elise.  “A goddess, are you?”

“My parents were… fond of ancient names,” said Cassandra.

“Yeah, I see.” Elise slid around Tia to stand in front of Cassandra, eyes sparking with sexual interest.   “Tia, how do you feel about bringing someone back with us tonight?”

Cassandra smiled, sweet and predatory.  Tia just rolled her eyes behind her lover.

“Baby, it’s your fantasy.  I told you that you that if you found someone you wanted to fuck, I’d be on board with that.”

“Well, there’s this really pretty boy on the dancefloor,” Elise started, tossing a glance back, “who had some interesting ideas.”

“Was there?” Tia ran a finger down the back of Elise’s neck, making her shiver.

“Yeah,” said Elise on a small gasp as Tia’s finger trailed down her naked spine and traced abstract designs on her ass through the silk of her skirt before drifting ever lower. “Although maybe your friend, oh, God in Heaven, might be interested in playing, too.”

Tia pulled her fingers back from the depths of Elise’s dripping cunt, sucking the juices thoughtfully from her fingers.  “I don’t know, baby.  I’ve known Inanna for years and I’ve never had the least desire to fuck her.”

Cassandra’s lips thinned slightly, before a wicked smile graced her lips.

“But this is all about your lover’s fantasies, isn’t it?  Maybe we should ask _her._ ” said Cassandra slithering forward; sleek, hypnotizing, and every inch sex made manifest.  She raised a finger and touched the pulse point at the base of Elise’s throat, tracing absent designs that made the young mortal shiver, pupils blown wide with desire.  “Hello, little one.”

“Oh, God,” Elise’s voice quaked as she leaned in to the touch. “Heavenly Father, have mercy.”

“God?” asked Cassandra in a low, rich voice. “Gods so very rarely have mercy, little one.  The only thing you can rely on is our appetite.  And I must admit, _I hunger._

“Beg for respite, beg for release, beg for _more_ , if you will, but never beg for my _mercy_ , for I have none.”  Cassandra lifted her finger from Elise’s collarbone and Elise stumbled forward as though drawn on a string.  The elder immortal’s smile was lush and terrifying, ripe with lust and depraved craving.  “May I taste you, little one?  May I _touch_ you?”

Elise gasped out a wordless assent and Cassandra took her mouth with a slow, sweet violence.  Graceful hands played over breast and hip, drawing aching moans from Elise’s throat.

Tia hated to admit it, but it was _always_ a guilty pleasure to watch Ishtar-the-Beautiful performing her chosen art.  Every word, every gesture, every curl of the tongue was a masterpiece of carnal artistry.

Elise let out a low groan, clinging desperately to Cassandra as the woman sucked a nipple into her mouth, tongue playing obscenely over the thin silk of Elise’s top.  A graceful, long-fingered hand drifted under Elise’s skirt, beginning to move languidly as Elise writhed under her touch.

“Inanna,” said Tia sharply, narrowing her eyes as Cassandra’s calculating gaze met hers.

“My lovely dragon is right.  You really _are_ delicious, little one.  How readily you yield, how _sweetly_ ,” murmured Cassandra, wrist moving rhythmically beneath Elise’s skirt, drawing a sharp little cry as Elise came. “I could just steal you away and fuck you for _days_.  Would you come with me, if I asked you?”

Elise keened softly, hips bucking against Cassandra’s hand.

“If you come with me, you’ll want for nothing, little one.  Not love, not money, not power.  I’d treat you so much better than Tia ever thought to.  We could see the stars together.”

“No,” gasped Elise, shuddering as Cassandra pulled another orgasm from her with clever fingers. “N-not a thing to be taken.  Not a f-fu-fucking competition. N-not a g-god-d-damn weapon.  Oh, God, please.  Tia.”

Tia pulled her away from Cassandra’s knowing hands, running a soothing hand down her lover’s back.

“Go away, Inanna,” Tia said with brittle calm.  “You’ve had your fun.”

“Your family and your women,” Cassandra tsked mockingly, sauntering toward them and drying her hand on a soft, white handkerchief. “Always so _stingy._ ”

“She belongs to herself,” retorted Tia as Cassandra folded the damp scrap of silk and tucked it away. “She’s not mine to keep or give away.  She’s not a _thing._   She’s a person.”

“If you say so,” said Cassandra indifferently.  “I’ve learned what I needed to know.”

“Unfortunately,” said Tia as Cassandra passed her, “So have I.


	3. Archive 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes you give things up to get what you want.
> 
> Also, yet more sex.

Datafile 0.497168 (Corrupted)

He knows that he is dreaming.  John Watson died long, long ago, when mortals decided that the Immortals they had blackmailed into trying to clean up the world stage should die – and with them the supporters who deserved death for “betraying” humanity.

Yet here he stands, bright eyed and sandy-haired, as beautiful and desirable as he had ever been in life.

“Gilgamesh,” he says, in much the same way he had once said _Sherlock_.  “It’s time.”

“Time for what?” the once-king of Uruk, the hated despot Khan of Earth, the terrorist John Harrison said, sitting up on the hard pavement.

John looks down at him, an oddly gentle smile flickering at the corners of his lips.

“It’s time to learn what you already know,” the image of John wavers, flickering through a dozen forms, each strong and loyal, pale-eyed and beautiful, before settling back into John’s clear-eyed visage.  “Come on then,” said John.  “We’ve a mind-palace to pull down so you can stop hiding away from everything that you know.”

 

Datafile 3

 

For the first time in centuries Tia watched until Cassandra exited the building, trying to rid herself of the feeling that she might be stabbed in the back.  She saw a man with youthful features and a faintly deceptive stance watching her from nearby and she sighed slightly.  He was tall, dark and absurdly pretty, with dark, wicked eyes that promised laughter and pleasure in equal amounts.

“So,” said he.  “That… happened.  Vengeful ex?”

Tia snorted.  “It might’ve been easier if she were.  She’s more like the family frenemy.  I can’t say she’s ever tried to seduce my lover away from me in my presence before, but I find myself oddly unsurprised.”

“Why didn’t you warn me?” asked Elise, head buried against Tia’s throat.

“Against what?  World shattering orgasms or the sudden über-creepy I’m going to steal you, hide you in a tower, and fuck you blind amidst the bleached bones of my former captives thing?”  Tia thought about it. “Probably because I didn’t know.  Well, I knew about the orgasms.  Inanna is _very_ good with orgasms.”

“With a name like Innana, she’s got to be good,” quipped the stranger, making Elise raise her head and laugh.

“Hey,” she said, looking over.

“Hey,” he ran a hand through already mussed hair.  “Look, ladies, it’s obvious that this probably isn’t the time…”

“Yes it is,” said Elise, straightening up, honey-gold flyaways pasted to her sweaty skin.  “I still, I still want what we talked about. I’m not going to let that, that…”

“Bitch?” suggested the pretty boy.

“Bitch,” agreed Elise, “Not gonna let her ruin my plans.”

“You made plans?” asked Tia, curious.

“Your lady is a tease,” drawled pretty boy.

Tia considered him with a slow smile, eyes trailing over him slowly.  He was definitely older than he first appeared, making the life in him burn that much more beautifully.

“Oh, pretty-pretty, it’s only a tease if we don’t deliver. “  Tia attempted to look wounded.  “Baby, you never told me that you were interested in cock.  I’d’ve gotten you one before if I’d known.”

“He isn’t for me,” said Elise.  “I got him for you.”

“Is that so?” asked Tia archly. “Because I’m pretty sure there’s enough to go around.”

Elise squirmed.

“Baby, whatever you want.”

“I want to watch him fuck you,” Elise blurted.  “See what the fuss is about.”

“At this rate I’m going to think I’ve spoiled you for cock, baby,” Tia kissed her.  “But I’ve got no objections if he doesn’t.”

“Ma’am, I am utterly at your lady’s service.”

“Is that so?”  She stalked over to him, watching his eyes change from deep brown to utmost black as she put an extra swing to her hips.  In her heels, they were of a height and she sampled his lips.  “That’s good, pretty-boy, because tonight is all about my lady’s pleasure.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed as she ran her hands down his chest.  “I’m Jack, by the way.”

Tia laughed, dark and low, not believing it for a second.

“I’m Tia,” she told him. “And that’s Elle.”

Jack nodded.

“There are rules,” said Tia. “If you want to play.  This is about Elle and what she wants.  If you think it’s about you or have any intent that would cause her harm, now is the time to leave.  No harm, no foul.”

Jack laughed softly.

“Oh, I can totally live with that.”

“Even if you don’t get to fuck her, pretty-pretty?”

“Sweetness,” he leaned down, lips brushing Tia’s ear, “she wants to watch my cock slide balls deep into you.  She wants to eat my come from your hole.”

Tia’s breathing hitched.

“You okay with that, sweet?”

“Yeah,” said Tia, dangling a key for one of the private rooms upstairs.  “If that’s what she wants.”

Elise came up behind her, resting her chin on Tia’s shoulder as she slid her hands down Tia’s curves.

“Sometimes I wonder,” Elise breathed against her cheek.  “God, I wonder, what it’d be like to kiss a man.  I wonder if it’d be as good as sucking on your tongue.”

“It’s easy enough to find out, baby.” Tia pivoted, neatly depositing Elise in her place.

“Kiss the girl, Jack, and follow me.”

“What?” said Elise, giving a little shriek as Jack picked her up, bridal-style.

“Still curious?” he asked as her arms fell around his neck.

“Y-yeah.”

“Please, allow me.”  Tia hummed her approval as he kissed Elise with exquisite gentleness.  She steered him forward with a gentle hand as Elise lost herself in his mouth.  Tia didn’t think Elise even noticed the sound of the door unlocking, or the plush luxury of the room, even as Jack set her on her feet next to the bed.  Dazed blue eyes opened as Tia kicked off her shoes and knelt behind her on decadent cotton sheets.

“Hey, baby.” She embraced Elise from behind, caressing her through sweat-damp silk. “How do you like kissing a man?”

Jack’s mouth broke free to place kisses down Elise’s throat as she gasped for breath.

“G-good.  So good.” Elise’s hands rubbed up and down his chest, teasing diamond-hard nipples through cloud-soft cotton. Jack cupped her face, tracing her cheekbones.

“More?”

“Yes.” Elise rose up on her tip-toes, nipping at his mouth. “Please.”

He smiled, capturing her lips again in a series of languorous kisses, caressing hands moving down Elise’s body.

“Here?” he asked, tugging on a nipple.

“Lower,” Elise breathed in sweet demand.  “Please.”

Tia’s hands traced a slow path upward as Jack’s fingers flowed down the center of Elise’s body.

“Is this what you wanted?” Tia could hear the wet slide as Jack’s fingers slid slowly into her lover, the slow glide echoing wetly between them.

“Oh M-Mary, Queen of h-heaven,” Elise shuddered.  “His fingers, oh, God, are wider than yours. Sweet Christ.  Full, it’s so good.  More.”

Tia laughed against her ear as Jack slid down to his knees, and she pulled the light sheath of starspun silk off of Elise’s body. She saw him add a third finger, causing Elise’s knees to give out, forcing her to sit at the edge of the bed, splayed open before him.

A bright pink tongue darted out, wetting plush lips as he leaned in.

“Here?” he enquired, hot breath caressing tissues wet and swollen with need

“Yes, please.”  Elise panted as Jack pushed her thighs further apart, setting his mouth and hands to work.

“Is it good, baby?” Tia asked, pulling Elise’s head back for a kiss as Jack licked and sucked with gleeful abandon. 

“Y-yes. Oh, God. Ye-ess.”  Elise came with a low wail.  “Oh, God, oh, God, oh, _God_.”

“Jack does seem to be answering most of your prayers, doesn’t he?” asked Tia, utterly irreverent as she maneuvered her lover further onto the bed.

“Still w-want to see him fuck you,” said Elise, languid in the aftermath.

“Oh, yes,” said Jack as Tia pulled off her shirt.  “I’d like that.”

“You up for it, then?”

He laughed.  “Is that a challenge, sweetness?”

 “I'm always a challenge,” Tia taunted, slipping her skirt down her hips and then kicking it off the bed.

“Honey is always sweeter when you have to chance getting stung.” Jack prowled onto the bed, well-worn jeans whispering softly against the cotton bedsheets.

“Is that so?” She held her ground as he approached, swaying slightly. “Come and brave my venom, pretty-pretty.”

“Oh, thou sweet, sweet poison.” He slid his hands up her torso, making her shiver. “Sting me and I'll still drink thy nectar.”

Tia slipped a hand into his hair, fisting it ungently and pulling him forward with a fraction of the strength her age and immortality had granted her.

“Pretty words on a facile tongue,” Jack moaned in startled surprise as she took his mouth, deep and hard. “Elle wants to see us _fuck_ , pretty-pretty. I expect you to give me a long, hard ride.”

His arms slid around her, jerking her sharply into his lap and Tia laughed into his mouth.

“That's it, pretty, take what you want, and I'll do the same.”  Three hot, slick fingers stretched her open without warning, causing Tia to groan in appreciation as she unbuttoned his fly.  “You can do better than that, Jack. I won't break.”

“Siren,” he breathed against her neck, grinding his palm against her clit. ”Temptress.”

“Come _on_ , pretty boy.” Tia rode his fingers, undulating against his hand as she languidly stroked his dripping cock.  “Fuck me, bury that thick cock in my tight… little... cunt…”

“Jesus,” he groaned, licking a stripe up her neck to suckle _that spot_ behind her ear.  “Fuck, you _are_ tight. Like a nervous virgin on her wedding night.  And wet. So. fucking. _wet_.”

Tia shivered as his fingers left her empty, sliding through slick folds to trace a path up her chest, painting her breasts with her shining juices.   He nudged her up, fingers tangling with hers as they guided his cock into her, driving deep as his mouth descended to her breast, sucking the wetness from her skin like it was honey.

“Yes,” Tia buried her fingers in his hair, hips rolling like the sea into the heavy beat of his cock.  “Juust, like that.  Fuck me, pretty, f-fuck me open l-like it’s the first time I’ve ever taken a man.”

Jack’s moan shivered through her chest, hips stuttering before settling into a faster, harder rhythm.  Behind her the bed shifted, soft breasts pressing into her back.

“What’s it like?” asked Elise, sliding a hand firmly down Tia’s belly to rub slick fingers across Tia’s clit.

“S-so good, baby.” Tia’s breath hitched as orgasm crashed through her like a storm. Jack shuddered, grip bruising as he came inside her, a prayer fervent floating from his lips.

“Oh, my God,” whispered Elise, as Jack slipped from Tia’s body. “That was…”

“What you wanted?”

“Live action porn?”

“Beautiful.  Amazing.”

“Mmmm.  It was,” Tia sighed as Elise’s fingers continued to play in her come-stained folds.  “It’s very worth it to get this man out of his pants.”

Elise smirked at her as she pushed Tia down to lay among the wrecked sheets.

“You didn’t get him out of his pants.”

“I got his cock,” said Tia as Elise slid down her body, tongue swirling like hot silk against her.  “That’s the only part that counts.”

Jack laughed.

 

“So, are you ready for your grand adventure?” asked Tia as she and Elise walked through the San Francisco Transport Terminal, heading for the secured area reserved for Starfleet personnel.

“I’m so ready,” Elise bounced slightly, visibly vibrating in excitement.  “It’s going to be _amazing._ ”

“I’m sure,” said Tia drily.  “Hopefully your Captain will avoid another Prime Directive violation.”

“It was in a good cause,” defended Elise staunchly.  “How’d you even know about that?”

“Federation expert in Xenology, Anthropology and Cultural Contamination,” Tia told her.  “My primary occupation is not sex goddess.”

“I knew that,” said Elise, blushing.  “I just didn’t know that you’d seen the reports of what we got up to before – before…”

“Before the crash.” Tia pulled Elise close and kissed her lightly.  “It’s okay, baby.”

“Tia…” Elise’s voice trailed off and she looked pensive.  “You know I love you, right?”

“No, I had no idea,” Tia deadpanned.

Elise punched her in the shoulder.

“I’m serious.”

“I’m sorry, baby.  What is it?”

“I’m… I’m going to be gone a long time.”

“I know.”

“I…”

“You don’t want to stay celibate the whole time you’re in space?” asked Tia gently.

“No.” Elise looked relieved.  “I love you but – a lot can happen.  I might not come back, something might happen to _you_ , and I don’t want either one of us to just be… waiting.”

“Also,” said Tia.  “Fucking is fun.”

Elise choked, giggling helplessly at Tia’s blunt crudity.

“That… too.”

“Baby, I know it’s an off-the-wall notion, but your body is yours to do what you wish.  I have no claim on it.”  Elise opened her mouth and Tia held up a hand.  “We’ve been exclusive, yes – but that was a mutual decision.  It didn’t confer ownership of your body to me.”

“Tia.”

“Elise,” Tia tucked a hand behind Elise’s nape and pulled her in, kissing her lover like the precious, cherished being she was.  She rested her forehead against Elise’s, softly sharing the same breath.  “Baby.  Love is more than fucking.  Your body is yours to share or not as it pleases you.  It always has been.”

Elise curled into her embrace.

“When you get back, you’ll be different, baby.  I’ll be different, and it’s okay.  You’ll find me and we’ll go out for coffee and you’ll tell me about your trip and I’ll tell you about my research, and if we’re free of other obligations, we might see whether or not we want to spend more intimate time together.” Tia stroked her hair.  “You might fall in love – I’ve been looking and there are a lot of devastating girls and pretty boys on that starship of yours.

“And if you do, I’ll be so very, very happy for you.  And even if you don’t, I don’t expect you to sleep in an empty bed unless you want to.  It’s your body, baby.  It’s always your choice.”

Passing footsteps came to a sudden stop and Tia’s nose twitched slightly at a faint but intimately familiar scent.

“Well,” said a smooth baritone. “This is rather more awkward than the standard ‘morning after.’”

“Oh, God,” said Elise.

“You did keep calling me that,” said Jack, straightening his Science-blue tunic.  “But more properly I’m Lt. Commander Daniel J. Sparrow. At your command.  Quite literally it seems.”

“Lt. Elise Malone,” said Elise, bravely presenting a hand to shake, despite the mortified flush that painted her cheeks. “Astrocartography, astrophysics, and xenobiology.”

“Well met, Commander,” said Tia without a blush.  “Dr. Hypatia Balsdottir.  It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

He grinned at her.

“Lt. Malone.  I read your paper on stellar formation in the Dalegrian Beta Cluster and your speculation on the development of non-carbon-based-life sustaining worlds.  It was groundbreaking.”

“You did?” Tia looked faintly surprised.

“I know,” he said.  “Pretty _and_ smart.  It’s always a surprise to people.”

“What?” Elise gaped at him.  “I – no, I just didn’t – no one’s read that!  Nobody reads my publications but my parents!”

“And me!”

“And me, apparently,” said Jack – or Daniel as the case may have been.  “I’ve read all of your papers, Lt. Malone, Ph.D. cubed.  I’ve been in serious lust for your brain for a while now.”

“I – what?  _Really?_ ”

Tia slipped away, feeling not the slightest guilt for not actually saying goodbye.  She felt confident that Elise would be in good hands.

“Dr. Balsdottir,” came a cool, clipped voice from the side.  “If I may have a moment of your time.”

Tia came to a stop, turning toward the speaker, whose presence pulsed faintly against her skin like the heartbeat of a star.

“Commander Spock,” she said neutrally.  “What can I do for you?”

“Ah, you are aware of who I am.”

“I’d have to be living under a rock, in a swamp, on a planet on the other side of the galaxy not to know who you are, Commander.”

“I merely wished to inform you that it is poor etiquette to perform sexual acts in public places, and that on the whole Starfleet would generally prefer that its officers conduct themselves respectably whenever they are in uniform.  Your public debauchery of Lieutenant Malone has not gone unnoticed and neither is it appreciated by the command staff of the _Enterprise._ ”

Tia stared at him.  “Seriously?”

“You were in violation of public decency laws when you met her in this terminal the other day and cannot be considered a good example for the young woman if you cannot perform sufficient ablutions to remove any olfactory offense once you have finished carnal relations.”

“Commander, from what I understand you were raised on Vulcan, where emotions are considered a bad, bad, icky-bad, dirty-bad thing, so I’m going to give you a pass for your _fucking offensive_ little lecture,” Tia’s lips curved upward in a razor’s edge.  “If Starfleet cares about their reputation, they could try putting their female officers in the same tunic-and-pants combo as their male ones, instead of fuelling the porn industry with how easy-access those uniform dresses are.

“And while I have some small sympathy for your nose, I’d would like to point out that _my lover_ is leaving on a five year mission, and if I choose to wear her musk on my skin for the next few hours or the next few _days,_ because I have no idea if I will never see her again… well, it’s none of your prissy Vulcan-ass business.”

“Dr. Balsdottir, there is no need to be any more offensive than you already are.”

“Scent memory is the strongest there is in the human brain,” said Tia idly.  “Vulcan, too, if I remember right.  Tell me, Commander, how much would you give to have a pillow your mother had slept on?”

Commander Spock stiffened.

“Just a whiff,” Tia whispered, stepping forward and viciously invading his personal space.  “What would it be worth to you to be able to remember her that way?”

He held still, staring down at her with dark, rage-filled eyes even as he stood still.

“That’s what I thought,” Tia stepped back.  “But if it comforts you, Commander, Elise just broke up with me, so you needn’t worry that I’m going to show up and ravish her on the bridge or in a corridor.  No need to be concerned that she’ll bury her face between my thighs in the commissary and dare anyone to take her to task about it.”

“That is satisfactory,” said the first officer of the Enterprise.  “I shall have to commend her on her good sense in removing you from her life.”

“You go ahead and do that, Commander,” said Tia turning to walk away.  “I’m sure that she’ll appreciate it just as much as I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daniel Jonathan 'Jack' Sparrow is exactly who you think he is.


	4. Archive 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duncan meets a bunch of women, all of whom are terrifying. Plans are made to rescue Khan.

Datafile 0.577641 (corrupted)

Khan – the name he has worn the longest, the one that he has molded himself to be, the one that strikes fear and loathing into his enemies; those fucking ungrateful _mortals_ who dared, who _dared_ to think they could use him and discard him once he had achieved their goals – follows the image of his last friend, last partner, last _beloved,_ if not lover.

The last person who had connected him to humanity, who had made him _care_ about the actual welfare of the puling, intransigent, filthy, lying _animals_ he and his kind had the misfortune to spring from. John Watson had been like the call of distant stars, pulling him up, making him rise above his petty irritations and painful ennui.  Life had become worth _living_ , ceasing to merely be a tedious game.   Now John is nothing but a ghost in the machine, a flickering remnant of long-suppressed desires. 

John glances back at him, offering a small huff of exasperation.

“Gilgamesh.”

“John Watson never knew me by that name,” says Khan, coming to a stop behind him.  “The great king died long, long ago.”

“You are who you are,” says John, who suddenly held a comically large warhammer.  “And you were born a king, Gilgamesh-the-Builder, Gilgamesh Storm-Eyed.”

“Gilgamesh the weak, Gilgamesh the fool,” Khan retorts.  “Better to call me Khan the Bloody, Khan the Despot, Khan the Vile.”

“Evil,” says John, “has never suited you.  Neither has ignorance.”

“What are you supposed to be?” Khan asks, suddenly irritated.  “My conscience?”

“No,” says John, whirling to smash his oversized hammer into a wall, shattering the landscape around them.  “I’m here to be your salvation.”

 

Datafile 4:

 

Duncan arrived early for his meeting with the Immortal underground.  Like Paris, he gained access to a luxury apartment filled with small, welcoming touches.

A tall, blonde woman sat on a comfortably worn couch, wearing an extremely high-tech shipsuit and supple knee-high leather boots. Her presence burned like the primordial fires of a newborn star, and her eyes glowed with a worn and ancient rage.

“Hello,” Duncan said simply, shutting and re-locking the door.  “I’m Duncan MacLeod –”

“Of the clan MacLeod,” she finished for him, her startlingly low voice lyrical with ancient, ancient Gaelic. Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, silent and brooding.  A small smile touched the edges of her lips.  “Be welcome kinsman.”

“Thank you.”  He stepped carefully into the living area, taking a seat on the settee across from her.

She sat forward, resting her elbows upon her knees, chin resting on clasped hands as she considered him further.  Duncan shifted uncomfortably, with the sudden sensation that he was being weighed and perhaps found wanting.

“I am Nike,” she said after several minutes of silent assessment.  The inferno in her flame-blue eyes banked to a gentle warmth.  “I am come from Halcyon to assist in the current endeavor.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Nike.” Duncan offered her a small smile.

“I know of you, Duncan of clan MacLeod. Methos and… Cassandra have both spoken of you.” For a moment her eyes blazed brightly.  “Darius the Roman extolled your virtues oft before he died.”

“You knew Darius?”

She shrugged.  “I have known many people, kinsman.  Some better or more bitterly than others.”

“He was a good man,” said Duncan.

“Eventually, yes.” The curve of her lips did not reach the banked heat of her eyes. “And an annoying one when he wished to be.  I was never fond of the acolytes of the crucified man.  But Darius was better than many.”

Duncan sat back.

“Sometimes I think the only Immortals that survived were the old ones.”

“This surprises you?” Nike’s laughter was not entirely kind.  “We have all of us known purges, kinsman.  Pogroms and genocide are part of humanity’s never-ending dance with life and death.  We knew how to survive where youngsters did not.”

“We should have protected them.” Even now the guilt of not preventing the murderous tide that had seen to the endless bloodbath that the Eugenics Wars ate at him.

“Why?” Nike asked curiously.  “It is not as though we ever did much to spare them the Game, young Duncan.”

Duncan winced.

“It was so much more than the Game, that was Immortal versus Immortal, strength against strength. Pre-immortals were simply slaughtered for the sake of it!”

“So idealistic,” she murmured.  “I hope, kinsman, for the sake of us all, that your desire for fairness and justice is borne out by time.  It is not my experience that humans are either of those things.”

“Why do you call me kinsman?”

She laughed, throaty and rough.  “Oh, lad, because we are separated by so many generations, through your mother and her mother’s mother.”

“We are?”

“Ach.  You and Connor both, though he favored my daughter more than you.”

“Immortals cannot have children!” Duncan protested. “YYou would have had to have been a mere child yourself to have had children before your first death.”

“Oh, you do have my Eideann’s fire, don't you?” Nike leaned back, crossing her legs. “I am old by many a man’s standard. Things then were not as they are now.  Even in your youth, kinsman, a girl might have been married and well bedded by fourteen an her body were ripe for the ploughman’s seed.”

“I –” Duncan sighed. “You are right, of course.”

“Do not fret, kinsman, my husband was kind enough, and my daughters a fair joy.” She shrugged. “It is not a thing of substance, my age when I bore them. Only that I had not found my first death.”

“You were still young when you died.”

“Only in flesh,” she said, smiling faintly at the compliment.

The door pinged softly as a keycard was applied.

A youthful appearing woman, whose presence was scented of starlight and ozone, swept in like a roiling stormcloud. Her dark hair flared a rounder in a corona of roiling power.

“Lady Hypatia,” said Nike with a smooth nod.

“Nike,” Hypatia frowned, “I've asked you not to call me that.”

Nike wore a small, victorious smile as the palpable aura of power around Hypatia calmed.

“Tia.  There's a decent whiskey in the liquor cabinet.”

“Oh, thank Ba’al.”

“That's what I usually do when I see him. Pour me a glass too, would you?” Nike’s eyes returned to Duncan. “Cassandra’s Child of Prophesy is a bit of something.”

“Nike, Duncan of the Clan MacLeod is well known to be a fair, honorable, and generally just man.”

“I know,” said Nike, accepting a glass full of whiskey as the dark haired woman took a seat on the sofa’s arm. “It's a problem.”

“Eh.” The newcomer raised her glass. “It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Duncan Macleod. I am Tia.”

“Lady Tia.”

“Oh, please,” said Tia. “I've been a goddess, a princess, a whore and a slave.  Just Tia is fine.”

“Not to mention warrior, wife, mother and murderer.”

“You've got that shit more than covered,” said Tia. “No need to steal your mantle.”

Nike lifted a hand in concession.

“Speaking of goddesses and murderers, where's our fourth?”

“Lady Cassandra is running late.  It seems she feels she has something important to do.”

“More important than the task at hand?”

Nike shrugged, elegant and eloquent.

“Cassandra?” Duncan voiced his surprise.  “I thought her dead.”

“No,” said Nike, “though I wouldn't grieve if she were.”

“Nike.”

“I am not required to like her, Tia.”

“You don't like anyone,” said Tia.

“I value some.”

The women stared at one another until Tia looked away.

“Right.  So, since I'm sure she'll appear whenever it is most advantageous to her, why don't we get started?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Duncan.

“Right then,” Tia pulled out datastick, plugging it into a spot on the coffee table, activating a cleverly hidden holographic display. A thin keyboard extended out from beneath the table’s surface.

“Wow,” said Duncan. “We don't have anything like this in Starfleet.

“I know,” said Tia.  “We don't share tech with mortals if we can help it.”

Duncan raised a brow.

“We have to stay ahead somehow,” said Tia, taking a seat on the floor and tapping away at the thin keyboard.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“I owe papa fifty credits,” said Tia absently as a visual display of Starfleet’s archive appeared, information nodes glimmering like a galaxy of stars.

“I owe your dad one hundred.  I thought Mattias – Methos – to be exaggerating.” The women turned their eyes upon Duncan, making him squirm.

“What?”

“What do you know about Seraph IX?”

“The research station?”

“It’s one of a dozen medical research stations run by T&E Enterprises, which is, at this point a multi-planetary and colonial concern that produces many medications for humans, Deltans, and is currently marketing heavily to Betazed.”

Nike raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“I hadn't thought a Starfleet captain would be so knowledgeable about what is nominally a civilian concern.”

“I do have to sign off on Medical’s requisitions,” Duncan observed drily. “I became interested a few years ago when it seemed like T&E might have had something to do with that disastrous affair on Tarsus IV.”

“Oh, they did,” said Tia, using her fingers to pull apart the shining data web. “Can't prove it in a Federation court, mind you, but Kodos was fucking well on their payroll.”

“You worked on the… Forensic anthropology, didn't you?” Nike stretched out an elegant finger and nudged one of the streams, causing a new constellation of nodes to form.

“Investigated the death camps, the medical testing barracks, and generally had a grand time amidst the newly dead?  Yeah.” Tia dropped her hands to the keyboard and tapped in a command, causing Seraph IX to appear in place of Starfleet's shining strands of gleaming data. “It was like being in Germany, only with more food and fewer guards.”

Duncan winced.

“I'm sorry.”

“Not as sorry as I was, I assure you.” Tia's ice-pale eyes glittered. “Sometimes it's very unpleasant to be unable to die.”

“And extremely unfair,” agreed Nike, eyes focused far away. “So why do we need to know about T&E?”

“The Enterprise has been set a milk run – a small shakedown cruise – to ensure everything is working correctly before they head out on their big mission.”

“I heard.  They're supposed to take supplies and some scientists out to a research station.”

“Yes,” said Tia. “What hasn't been advertised is that it's going to Research Site 23, which is a small, domed facility planetside below the Seraph IX research station.”

She touched the hologram, flicking her fingers to zoom in the view.

“Site 23 is funded by the Federation, but it's manned completely by T&E scientists, doing T&E’s work, under T&E's agenda. Money goes in and very little seems to come out, and that's been true for at least three generations.”

A web of data appeared around the site and the station.

Duncan tapped one of the web lines, following it to a group of nodes, eyes flickering as he scanned the data.

“This is crazy.” He plucked out one of the nodes and expanded it. “There's a small, but constant stream of new hires going out to Seraph IX, but… They're not coming back to Earth, or their colonies of origin.”

“They disappear into T&E. They remain on the books, showing as transferring to other locations. There's an occasional recorded vid or letter home, but they taper off within the first year. Families seem to think it’s the usual – you lose touch.  But every family that has gone looking runs in to the same problem. Within three years, there's an ‘employee terminated’ notice within the system and no one knows where the employee has gone.”

Tia’s voice was hollow.

Then she said, “You always have to make room for more, one way or another.”

The door activated and Cassandra glided in.

“I am so sorry I'm late,” she said. “I just wanted to be certain that all of our loose ends have been thoroughly tied up.”

“I'm sure,” said Nike, studying the display. “So the Enterprise is going here.  What has it to do with us?”

“One,” said Tia, “they're taking some old tech to be studied -- it's been hundreds of years since Earth produced cryotubes and it seems that humans have lost the art of it. The experience they recently had of sticking a critically injured or just-deceased crew member in one to be revived at a later date has reminded the Fleet that cryotubes are not a wholly useless technology.

“Two: every missing employee I've been able to identify comes from a known pre-immortal bloodline.”

Duncan froze.

“What's this?” Cassandra looked concerned.

Tia took a deep breath.

“I believe that they're taking Khan and the others to a medical research facility of unknown purpose, where pre-immortals are either being held or have been killed.”

“We can’t allow that to happen,” said Nike, eyes fierce.  “The _Pagan Solstice_ is more than capable of taking out the _Enterprise._ ”

“No!  The crew of the _Enterprise_ is guilty of nothing!” protested Duncan.  “We do that and we’re no better than the monsters they call us.”

“Why not live up to that reputation?” Nike demanded. “While we may not have unblemished hands, Immortals did what they were asked, and mortals rose against us using technology to identify and murder those who would have risen to be within our ranks, and then had the gall to be surprised when men and women raised before fanciful notions of _human rights_ retaliated _in kind._ ”

“Nike,” said Tia softly.  “Enough.”

“I say we simply take the _Enterprise_ and then go to Seraph IX.”

“No,” said Tia.

“I knew it,” said Cassandra venomously.  “You just want to protect your pretty pink cunt.”

“Cassandra!” Duncan’s eyes were round with surprise.

“She has a lover in the crew,” sneered Cassandra.  “She just wants to protect her sweet little snatch.”

“If my goal was ensuring Elise’s safety, I’d have seen to it she was offered a civilian job with greater research flexibility,” said Tia.  “It’s not like I haven’t had time to arrange it.”

“The easiest method is taking the ship while they transport our people,” said Nike carefully.

“I agree,” said Tia.  “But we cannot do anything to harm the crew.”

Nike looked thoughtful. “Do you object to _damage_ to the _Enterprise_?”

Tia raised an elegant brow.

“How so?”

“Arthfael has been working on a field that drop ships out of warp.”

Duncan’s jaw dropped.

“What?  Why would he do that?  Is he planning to go in to space piracy?”

“I suppose he might be,” said Nike consideringly.  “It’s always a possibility with Arthfael.  He’s always been a fan of stealing and redistributing things.”

Tia laughed.  “He did spend some time in England during the reigns of Richard and John, didn’t he?”

“Henry, too.  He quite enjoyed tupping the queen beneath the King’s very nose.”  Nike sighed.  “Ah, Eleanor.  Would that she’d been a queen in her own right, with Louis and Henry vying for her bed rather than her hand.”

“Wait,” said Duncan. “You’re saying that you know Robin Hood?”

“No,” said Nike slowly.  “Robin Hood is a legend based on the actions of a number of men operating throughout England to undermine the throne, particularly during the reigns of Richard and John.”

Duncan stared at her.

“So, what, Robin Hood is a myth created by you?”

“Not by me personally,” said Nike.  “Though it was entertaining to watch the rumors of the Hood arise.  John of England was an asshole and a pedophile who had no business sitting on the throne.  It was vastly entertaining to watch him turn red as new songs about this apparent new habit among bandits to steal tax money and then invest it in local villages and townships.”

“I believe we’ve gotten a bit off topic,” said Cassandra, irritated.

“Oh, fuck you,” said Nike.

“You can’t afford me, dearling.”

“I wouldn’t pay a clipped copper for you.”

Cassandra’s eyes blazed.

“Ladies, please.” Duncan raised his hands.  “We’re all adults here.”

“Right,” said Tia.  “Now let’s be honest, Federation Astronavigation is somewhat primitive, since it’s set around warp capability, and warp is somewhat limited.  We know where the Enterprise is going, we know when she’s leaving, and it’s not difficult to determine the path she’ll take.”

“Aye,” said Nike.

“Seraph IX, like all the Seraph stations, is within shouting distance of the Neutral Zone, so it will take at least a couple of weeks for the Enterprise to get there.  If we can knock her out of warp someplace in the middle of nowhere –”

“There’s a lot of nowhere in space,” said Duncan.  “Believe me, I know.  Best if we can choose a location where an anomaly might be believed.  Is the _Pagan Solstice_ set up as a research vessel at all?”

“She’s listed as an experimental with the Federation.  But we do have a science crew.”  Nike smiled slowly.  “Ah, we knock her out of space and respond either to the hail, or the fact it’s likely to show up as a very peculiar sensor reading when she drops out of warp.  We’ll be too far to reach anything with impulse drives, and we – conveniently, but it would not be unexpected with an experimental ship – have parts that they might need in order to successfully effect repairs.”

“Clever.” Cassandra’s eyes narrowed in thought.  “Especially if their shields and sensors are compromised.”

“Definitely need an anomaly,” said Duncan.  “Let me work on the astrocartography.  The _Enterprise_ isn’t due to leave dock for a week and has only just taken on the majority of her crew.”

“Duncan,” said Tia.  “We need someone actually on board.”

He hesitated.

“Tia.”

She opened another datastream.

“There are fourteen known pre-immortals in the Enterprise’s crew,” said Tia, displaying their images.  “One known – if new – Immortal.”

“Oh, Christ,” said Duncan, staring at the brashly charismatic image of James T. Kirk.  “I’ve not had a reason to interact with him.  Methos mentioned that he was Immortal, but I don’t think it’d really set in.”

Nike’s mouth thinned.

“Shit.”

“Sorry, Nike.  It was only recently confirmed.  His Quickening is very much active.” Tia made an odd face.  “It was rather distracting when he and Commander Spock transported into the main terminal at San Francisco.”

“Ah,” said Duncan.  “Were you aware that he attempted to lay public indecency charges against you?”

“No,” Tia rolled her eyes.  “But I’m not surprised.  Apparently he’s not aware that San Francisco’s laws allow for public sex as long as you’re reasonably discreet – as long as clothes stay on and you’re in a secluded spot, the city doesn’t care.  He didn’t hear or see anything, he just smelled my girlfriend’s _thorough_ satisfaction and my arousal as we passed him.”

“Which you doubtless did on purpose,” Nike accused.

“Well, yeah,” said Tia.  “Vulcan’s irritate the shit out of me on general principle with their over-addiction to logic.  I don’t give a damn how they live their own lives, but the supercilious, sanctimonious, holier-than-everyone-in-the-galaxy-because- _we-_ have-no-emotions thing drives me up a wall.  It’s petty of me, but I enjoy having orgasms around them, just to make them twitch.”

Cassandra choked on a sudden laugh.

“That said – Duncan, we need you or someone you trust on that ship.  But I would personally prefer you.”

Duncan considered it.  “The _Hunter’s Paradise_ won’t be done with its retrofit for the next three months.  I can tell the Admiralty that I’m… bored with my leave and would like a small assignment.”

“I wish Pike hadn’t died,” said Nike.  “I understand why Khan did what he did – I’m not sure I even blame him, it’s a failure of our network that we did not notice he had been found and that Starfleet held our people – but I wish by all the Gods he had not killed Pike in the process.  Pike was a good man and new enough to the Admiralty that we might have brought this to his attention without revealing the continuing existence if Immortals among the Terran population.”

“I thought you didn’t like anyone,” said Duncan, tilting his head at Tia.

“I don’t,” said Nike bluntly.  “But I do value them.  Pike was useful.  A sincerely good man who managed to rise to real power through no fault of his own.  He was predictable in his views and actions.  Had I stood in front of him and said ‘I am an Immortal’ or ‘I am an Augmented human’ he wouldn’t have killed me out of hand, because he would have seen me as an individual.  That fucker Marcus would have hit me with a Romulan disruptor before the word ‘Immortal’ finished leaving my mouth.” She paused.  “Unless, of course he thought he could fuck or use me.  He was a sick bastard.  I hope that Kirk knows it, since he’s allowed Marcus’ daughter onto his ship.  _She’s_ an amoral piece of work, make no mistake.   No matter what the press is currently crowing about her and her actions in the Incident, Carol Marcus was there for reasons of her own.”

“I can talk to Archer.  I can show him my research and supplement it with some of this – Archer won’t like what he sees.  We don’t have to tell him why we think T&E is doing this shit.  He’ll authorize a quiet investigation.  I’m sure of it.”

Tia nodded.

“I will work on disruption sites,” said Nike.  “It is unwise for our inside man to know too much.  It is not that I do not trust you, kinsman, so much as I cannot trust a crew that contains a touch telepath, and no few others with mental skills you may not have defenses against.”

“Commander Spock is not known for the deliberate intrusion into other people’s minds, but I understand.”

Nike gave him a small, wintery smile.

“This Commander Spock is not,” she said coolly.  “But there is another.  What history he agreed to share with Starfleet does not indicate that Vulcan morality is particularly proof against the needs of his captain or his crew.  You would do well to be wary of him, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”  Duncan stood.

“I’ll come with you,” said Cassandra.  “I have a few contacts who might be able to get some information about what is going on at Site 23.”

“That’ll be great, Cassandra!  We can have lunch.  I’ve a ground transport just downstairs.”

Cassandra smiled, taking his arm.  They headed for the door when Duncan stopped, thoughtful.

“You are called Nike?” he asked, looking back toward the lovely blonde woman on the couch.

“Yes?”

“Wingèd victory.”

“Yes.  It seemed an appropriate name when I abandoned my old life.”  Her pale brows lifted over eyes that burned like blue-white stars.  “Problem?”

“No,” said Duncan, shaking his head.  “Just… remembering something.”

Cassandra tugged lightly on his sleeve and they walked out the door.


	5. Archive 5

Datafile 0.614921 (corrupted)

“John!” he cries, the world breaking around him in razor shards.

“Am I?” his figment asks, form flickering as the world re-forms, a long and grassy trail leading through familiar hills that fill Khan with grief.  “Wasn't John Watson was just an aching reminder of what you lost so long ago?”

“I loved John Watson,” Khan hisses. “As much as I am able to love.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John’s smile is sweet and melancholy as he stepped upon the fragrant grass. “I know.”

As he moves his form melts into that of a girl, not long into her womanhood, fair-haired and pale-eyed.  She was not beautiful, not as her mother had been, but she is strong-featured and filled with grace. Her hand rests upon her swollen belly, and she smiles at him, as though he is the center of the world.

“Eideann,” Khan whispers, choking. “Wife.”

“Husband,” her hand lifts in entreaty. “I am so sorry.”

“Whyever for?”

“I didn't realize until I died, how much you had done for Arienh and I. I had never understood what you gave up.”

“I gave up nothing.” He looked away, down the track and toward the fertile valley. “There was nothing to lose.”

“You know that isn't true,” said Eideann.

“How can you say that?” Khan takes her hand, pulling her into a gentle embrace. His hands rest with hers, feeling the life growing within her womb.

“Mattias Arturius came to us with a warning,” she says leaning back. “He, a slave with much to lose. Yet he came to mother’s gates and cried the greed of Gaius Seutonius Paulinus and his friends. He spoke the words of Callula Cassandra, Paulinus’ concubine, of the revelry planned for us.

“It was mother who returned him to his master, well flogged and weeping, husband.” She lifts his hand, kissing each finger, one by one. “It was she who did not believe, who did not call for you or her advisors, so confident was she in the goodwill of the Romans.”

Khan clenches his fist.  He has never forgotten the grotesque revelry the night Paulinus’ declaration that the lives of all Iceni were forfeit as slaves to the power of Rome.  Callula Cassandra, one of Ishtar’s many students, holding the barbed leash of a man he had sought almost from the first moment of his Immortality.

“All will know,” she had said in her glorious voice, “what these girls are and will forever be.  No longer shall the greedy whores of Iceni deny any man his due, no matter how humble.  We will see them taken and revealed for the sluts they are!  Let the daughters of Iceni’s whore-queen beg for respite, beg for release, beg for _more_ , if they will, but never the mercy of Rome!”

“It is no excuse,” he says.  “The man I knew would have died before obeying such an order – or such a woman.  He came to me, berated me for taking women against their will. He showed me how wrong I was.”

“He saved our lives, if not our bodies.”

“My wife was not so forgiving of the man who violated her innocence. So my sleeping mind wishes me to absolve him of his sin?”

“I am no figment, great king,” says Eideann. “Gilgamesh Storm-eyed, Gilgamesh the builder.”

“Say instead, Khan the Failure,” he pulls away from her, the words flying from his lips like daggers ripping through his belly and up to his heart.  “Khan the Weak!  I could not protect you – any of you – from the ploys and plotting!”

“So it was your fault my mother was too full of pride to listen to a humble slave’s warning?  Or that we, knowing Callula’s cruelty and depravity, accepted her invitation thinking it proof that her slave was a raving madman?” Her gentle words are like blazing coals shoveled into his guts, burning and burning. “Is it your fault my father accepted the Emperor’s gold to buy our people and land, not knowing we would be claimed as slaves and worse upon his death?”

“It was my fault that I did not stop it. Stop him.”

“To what end, husband? We would have been killed as an example to the rest, not merely raped by a slave to show us our place.”

“There was nothing mere about it!”

“No.”  Eideann’s form shifts back to John for a startling moment, then back to her gravid self. “It was a punishment for us, for our mother, and for the man ordered to be the instrument of our pain and humiliation.  There is only one fault, husband, and it lies upon other shoulders.”

“I cannot forgive him.” This, despite the fact that it was his friend, his greatest and most beloved who had snuck his Queen’s daughters out of the house, begging Khan to take them somewhere, take them anywhere, just to be sure they would be safe. This, despite the fact that his lover and shield had managed to smuggle the Queen of the Iceni away from her captors, an act that had seen Queen Boudicca raise armies and slaughter her enemies, and fall to slaughter in return. This, despite how it had torn his heart asunder to leave, even more than it would have killed him to stay.

This, because the broken, hollow-eyed slave Mattias Arturius – once Enkidu Lion-Slayer, Enkidu-of-the-Mountain, Enkidu Clever-minded – had stood at his threshold with Boudicca unconscious in his arms, taking the abuse Eideann and Arienh piled upon him without a word or excuse or plea for forgiveness. This because he – once-king, once-friend, once-companion and lover – had threatened to torture and maim Enkidu, as the woman they both had loved had been if he ever saw Enkidu again.

And he has not seen him since, even when their lives had brushed so close he could feel the floodwaters of Enkidu’s presence.

“You cannot forgive yourself, you mean.” Eideann sighs. “You punish yourself lifetime after lifetime, cold and alone, all for a fault that was not yours!”

“What of it? Do I not deserve it for my failures?”  His rage burned like the heart of the star.  “Have I not _earned_ my solitude, my loneliness?  Have I not _earned_ my shame and my tears?”

“Husband, no,” the world shifts again, revealing a city of wide streets and mosaic markets, a city whose walls reached for the sky. Before him, Shamhat, beautiful, graceful _Shamhat_ , stands in pale-eyed glory, a small, sad smile kissing her lips.

“O, my king,” says she, opening her arms wide and inviting him close. “Gilgamesh. How is it you have made such a muddle of understanding?”

 

Datafile 5

 

“I do not think I like this plan,” said Methos, flopping down next to Ba’al as he tossed datapad to the side.  “I would far rather take the station and let the Enterprise bring our people to us.”

“Because having the Enterprise respond to a distress signal from Seraph IX is a sound idea.”  Ba’al ran a finger through the hair behind Methos’ ear.

“Stop that,” said Methos.  “We have wor-”

His words were lost under the warm invasion of Ba’al’s tongue, and he relaxed into the touch with a small sigh.

“Enkidu.” Ba’al rested his forehead against his, their breath mingling.

“Balathu.” Methos raised a hand, cupping his friend’s neck, and pulling him in gently.   Their mouths met in soft, easy kisses, caresses worn smooth and comfortable by time.  “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“This?” asked Ba’al.  “I assure you, you’re very good at _this.”_

“Oh, really?” came Tia’s voice from the door.  “Papa, Dad, not the time.”

“I was under the impression,” said Methos, pulling away.  “That after a certain age, you would stop being a cockblock, Tia.”

“I assure you papa.  I will never be too old to ruin your sexytimes,” said Tia snottily.  Behind her, Duncan stood looking faintly stunned.

“I didn’t think you were gay, Methos.”

Ba’al turned smoothly, stared at Duncan for a moment and then began banging his head on Methos’ shoulder.

“You win.”

“Lovely,” said Methos, waving Tia and Duncan in.  “I believe you owe me a blowjob, a new ship design, and an analysis of those biological samples I sent you thirty years ago.”

Ba’al sighed.  “I’ll get right on that.”

“ _Not_ the blowjob,” said Tia.

“But that’s the only part of the bet I can fulfill right at the moment,” said Ba’al with a mock pout.

“You two do not have sex,” said Tia.  “I don’t care how many times I’ve walked in on you, they were all delusions.  You are my parents and you do not fuck.  It’s a rule.”

Methos stared at Shamhat’s daughter, who had her hands on her hips, a stern expression, and lips that would not stop twitching.

“Dearest, I believe I told you that you do not get to make the rules around, what, six thousand years ago?” He tilted his head to the side.  “Just because it’s been a while, it doesn’t mean you get to start now.”

“Hung like the king of oxen,” Ba’al reminded her.  “With the stamina to match.  You wouldn’t want me to miss out on that, would you daughter?”

Duncan choked while Methos laughed.

“Do you want details about how I ravished my girlfriend in the main terminal of the San Francisco Transporter hub?”

“Sure,” said Methos.  “I adore lesbian porn and I remember a time where we didn’t use pictures.”

_“Papa!”_

_“Methos!”_

“What?” Methos raised a brow.  “Honestly, Duncan.  Tia brags about her conquests in exhaustive detail.  She always has, ever since she stole the virginity of her first lover and then promptly picked the poor boy’s pockets for any other virtue he might have been carrying that night.”

“He didn’t have pockets,” protested Tia.  “No one had pockets.”

“Do you ever wonder why it took so long for us to invent pockets?” asked Ba’al. “I do.  And pants.  Pants were the best thing ever.”

“Cut his purse strings then,” said Methos to his daughter, completely ignoring Ba’al.  “You nicked every piece of that boy’s sexual innocence.  We were very proud.  Unsure of where you got the information about how to do it, but very proud.”

“That’s hardly fair,” said Tia, chin up and haughty.  “It was a fair exchange, his for mine.”

“True,” said Ba’al.  “And his wife _did_ thank you for it when they married.”

“Sometimes I miss all the public sex,” Tia sighed.  “You could get so many pointers that way and figure out who wasn’t worth fucking.  People these days are so ignorant and unadventurous.  How did the Puritans _manage_ such a thorough job of societal prudery?”

Methos, Ba’al and Tia all sighed with a faint air of loss.

Duncan collapsed into a chair, flushing a bright, bright red.

“I believe we’re here for a different discussion…?”

“Well, since Tia has ensured that I’m not getting laid in the immediate future,” said Ba’al.  “Let’s get down to the nuts and bolts of the matter.  Have you managed to secure passage?”

“I have, although the admiralty was oddly squidgy about it.”

“Is that a technical term, Mac?” Methos raised a brow.

“Well, Archer was flamingly pissed when I told him my suspicions, but Komack and the rest were adamant that the plan continue and that there’s nothing out-of-the-ordinary going on at Site 23.”

Methos narrowed his eyes, thinking.  “Are there any direct connections we know about between Starfleet Command and Seraph IX or Site 23?”

Tia shook her head.  “None that I know of.  In fact, the relationship between them is so clean it squeaks in celestial harmonies.  Which is frankly suspicious of itself.  We know that the station is, at the minimum, performing medical and biological research and that almost always results in someone telling someone else to reign it in, scientists being the curious assholes that they are.”

Ba’al laughed.

“Look,” said Duncan.  “Archer told me to do whatever I needed to in order to make a reasonable survey.  He knows that I’m no kind of scientist –”

“A variety of Ph.D.’s not withstanding –”

“—Shut up, Methos – and he told me to find a neutral third party to take as a third opinion.”

Ba’al snorted.  “Shall I guess?”

“You’re still using Enlil Dumont, correct?”

Methos covered his eyes, sighing.

“I told him that we’d run into one another in Paris recently and that as an eminent xenobiological researcher…”

“I’m going to kill you, Mac,” said Methos, leaning his head back into the couch cushions. “I’m going to kill you _in the face._   With a pair of dull tweezers and the juice of that fruit they found on Pele IV, the one that actually will set your tongue on _fire_ if you don’t strain it through the right mix of flora.”

Tia took a seat on the armrest nearest him and began giggling.

“You wouldn’t do that, Methos,” said Ba’al.  “That’s a waste of perfectly good chili seasoning.  I vote for thermite in the nasal cavity while he’s sleeping.”

“No, it would punch a hole into the _complete void_ he has in place of a brain far too quickly.”

“Papa,” said Tia.  “Please?”

“Fine.  Dr. Dumont will be ready and able to leave tomorrow.”

“Methos it will give us open access to Khan and his crewmembers.”

“Family,” hissed Ba’al, relaxed posture tightening in a moment.

“What?”

“His crew isn’t some random group of Immortals and pre-immortals, Mac,” said Methos calmly.  “They’re his family.”

Duncan frowned.

“Khan – well, Sherlock as he was known at the time – only agreed to the terms that were set for him when his partner, John Watson, was taken for extensive medical research.  John Watson, well, he was a known pre-Immortal that everyone had been keeping an eye on.”  Methos’ hand curled into a tight fist.  “Not that he remained pre-Immortal for long, not in _those_ hands.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The man that was known as Sherlock Holmes was given a new name and a new identity and sent to Asia in order to create peace and prosperity at any cost,” said Methos.  “Because if he did not, they would not only kill John Watson over and over again in their experimentation, they would ensure that he was deliberately maimed in ways that cannot be countenanced by anyone, even ancient Immortals who have little compunction about torture or murder.”

“I had no idea.”

“Of _course_ you didn’t,” said Ba’al.  “Why would you?  You’ve never been the sort to care about Immortals or their concerns.  Why would any of us bother to tell you?”

Duncan’s mouth opened in protest and Ba’al snorted.

“I don’t much like you,” said Ba’al.  “For a lot of the same reasons I don’t like Khan and never have.  You’re thoughtless.  Cruel.  Self-righteous.  Entirely too sure of your moral superiority.” Ba’al held Duncan’s eyes, his power rolling through the room.  “I don’t forgive or forget the sins committed against me and those I love.  Even so, I would never have wished Khan to wear such a barbed leash.  No one deserves to have a friend – or lover – in the hands of people who would kill them over and over and over again with the excuse of science.  Immortals were extremely valuable in their research – subjects that would die when a normal person would during drug trials, but be available again by morning.  People who could tell them what they’d experienced as they breathed their last.  People that they didn’t actually consider to be _human_ for all that they meant to benefit mortal humanity.

“I don’t give a damn what mortals tell themselves about Khan and the others they coerced.  I can’t say that he and the others were wrong to burn this world to _ashes_ over it.”

“I didn’t _know,_ ” said Duncan, horrified.  “How is it I never knew?”

“You were too busy opposing totalitarian rule by people who were only doing what they were asked to do,” said Methos, drily.  “After all, it was the culmination of all you’ve ever feared – Immortals taking power over mortals and somehow abusing them.  So far as I know you never asked why that would suddenly happen after millennia of Immortals staying out of it.”

“Still, one would think that more people would have known – protested that kind of treatment of Immortals!”

Tia stood, cold fury rolling off of her in waves.  Methos said nothing as she took a handful of steps and slapped Duncan hard enough to rock his head back.

“You ignorant little asshole.  I should kill you now and save the rest of us from your idiocy.”

Duncan went pale.

“You never questioned what you were told by mortals – never questioned why a handful of Immortals would just randomly take over the world all at once.” She stared at Duncan, expression still and cold as ice.  “You wonder why you didn’t know?  _It’s because you’ve always been a traitor to your own kind._   We didn’t tell you because you’d never have believed us, would never have accepted it, would never have believed that _mortals_ would do such a thing.

“You’re just like _them_.  You don’t question.  You’ve never questioned.  Extremely rapid strides in medicine and biology?  They must have been ethically obtained.  Extremely effective and safe drugs pushed through approval processes, new medical techniques and machinery?  It must have undergone thorough, ethically sound testing.  The earliest regenerators, the artificial wombs, the advances in fertility treatments, the sudden availability of genetic manipulation on a scale that had only been dreamed of.  Augmented humans, both born and created out of genetic treatment… All of it had to be _ethical_ , because there were _laws_ and _rules_ and _boards_ and _panels_ to ensure that, right?

“You don’t think.  They don’t think.  Even when it’s _obvious._   Just like them, you only point fingers at the despots who were trying to change culture faster than it could reasonably withstand.  Because only Immortals are evil and only Immortals need to be _stopped._ ”

Duncan closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.  Ba’al stood, pulling Tia into his arms as she wept soundlessly.

“They created children,” said Duncan after a time, the words muffled.  “I remember that, children meant to be the best and brightest.  The heralds of a new age.”

“Yes,” said Ba’al.  “Fifty boys and fifty girls, supposedly from samples provided by every race and nationality in the world.”

“Instead, they used us,” said Methos.  “Every Immortal they had in custody, or had influence over, to create them.”

“Us?” Duncan looked up and stared at him.  “I didn’t know they had you.”

“Oh, yes.” Methos’ smile was bitter.  “You just… assumed I was off in Tibet or too self-centered to be part of the protests when I found you after I’d been… released.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Before or after you were done calling me a selfish, heartless bastard?”

“Methos –”

“It was hardly the first time, Mac.”  Methos held Duncan’s eyes. “The downside of ensuring that people overlook and underestimate you is that they do both of those things.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”  Methos shook his head.  “I don’t want or need your regret.  The whole, stupid scheme was falling apart and the world had gone utterly mad.  I could hardly blame you for thinking it was my fault.  In a way it was, since the powers that be had taken the database I had initially created and the Watchers expanded upon, although I’m damned if I have any idea how they knew Sherlock had been born to rule.  I certainly never put that in their system.”

Duncan frowned, questioning.

“He hid all of us,” said Tia, still ensconced in Ba’al’s arms.  “He was the oldest on record and he couldn’t change that.  But it was easy enough to change and alter the records so that when one of us surfaced it was difficult for modern watchers to identify our past lives.”

“So someone told them?”

“Someone had to have,” said Ba’al.  “We’ve spent centuries trying to figure out who might have done so, or if any of the other immortal-watching agencies simply were aware of him for some reason…”

“Other Immortal-watching agencies?”

“You cannot believe that the Watchers were the only group watching Immortals?  How very Eurocentric of you.”

“Dad, hush.  It’s the only one he’s ever been exposed to.”

“Still ridiculous,” said Ba’al.

“He’s right,” Duncan noted.  “I should have.”

He turned to Methos.  “So the crew – they’re the children.”

“I imagine they’re adults by now,” said Methos, regret and grief flashing in his eyes.  “But yes, they’re mostly those of our children he could find and smuggle to the Botany Bay.  Whether they’re Immortal or still pre-immortal is the question.”

“Did Admiral Marcus _know?”_

Methos said nothing.

“How else do you suppose he managed to bend _Khan_ to his will?”


	6. Archive 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Methos boards a ship and words are had. Sorry McCoy, he doesn't really approve.

Datafile .887641

“Shamhat,” Khan pulls her into his arms, uncaring of the tears that fall relentlessly down his cheeks.  _“Shamhat.”_

“Gilgamesh,” she relaxes into his embrace, following him to the ground as his knees give way beneath him.  “O, my king, my lord of lords.”

“What do you here, in this place?”

“Like you, I sleep,” her hand caresses his cheek in silent comfort.  “This was not how things were meant to be.  You were never meant to travel this path so alone.”

“You are dead,” he says in long held pain.  “Through my own actions, you fell to that… that monster’s actions.”

“You were not alone, my king,” Shamhat, the low alto of her voice reverberating in his chest.  “You were not the only one who was fooled, or was destroyed.”

“Enkidu,” he buries his face in her shoulder and breathes in her scent.  The sweet richness of the almond oil she rubbed into her skin mingling with a touch of foreign spice.  Her musk rises between them, heady and familiar as she curls into his body.  “She unmade him with her evil.  She destroyed all within him that was good!”

“She did not,” Shamhat’s cry echoes deep within him.  “Enkidu unmade himself, that he could contest her.  Do not take that choice from him!”

“He became a bandit and warlord!  He became the very thing he despised most.”

“He created the only force that could stand against her!” She pulls out of his arms, rising to her feet.  “What else could he do, when he found that you were gone?”

“I _know_ ,” he roars it across the mosaicked marketplace, his voice like thunder.  “I thought him dead and I despaired!”

“You did,” Shamhat agrees.  “And it changed the world.”

His eyes fall to the hot, dust-ridden ground.

“But it was not the end of it, my king,” her hand brushes against his forehead, her fingers trailing against his cheek to force him to look up.  “Who is to say that what was achieved was not better?  I cannot.  Who is to say that they journey of two men alone was not, in the end better than the one two men united would have trod?”

Shamhat’s pale, pale eyes stare into his, her presence like emptiness and starshine, so far above him that it pulls at him, forcing him to rise up beyond himself, to fly that unending space between them.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he whispers.

“No,” says Shamhat.  “You were never meant to walk so alone, my king, and as often as I walked with you, it was never enough.  My failure, I suppose.”

She slips through dozens of forms, people who have stood at his side and pushed him, pulled him, broken him and mended him throughout time.  Men and women who have been friends and enemies, lovers and adversaries.  He remembers them all and weeps, feeling the echo of Shamhat’s distant starlight shine through.

“You were a right berk,” says John Watson taking his hand.  “I’d show up all pre-immortal, and you would turn away, as though my touch burned you.  Turn away and work so hard to give me a normal life, where I might have a spouse or children.  Every time, you arsehole. Every fucking time, I would come to you and I would die, knowing how much you loved me, how much you would sacrifice, how much you’d give up – or drive away – to keep me safe.”

Khan buries he face against John’s stomach as the wet pavement and lowering gloom of a London evening settle around him.

“If it makes you feel any better, Methos was almost as bad.” John smiled softly.  “He was better at avoiding me entirely, but he was also better at making friends.  He’s never had to sail through time so damnably alone.”

“I’m so tired, John,” he says, curling tight around this figment of his clearly deranged mind.

“I know.”  John Watson kneels before him, pressing a light kiss upon his lips.  “I am, too.  I’m tired of the endless cycle of death and rebirth – I want to spend the rest of my days with you.”

“How can you?” asks Khan.

“I told you,” said John, flowing back into Shamhat’s form.  “I’m asleep, just like you.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“What do you last remember?”

“Spock, the half-Vulcan boy who feels like snow upon the Serengeti – he chased me through San Francisco.  He used his Vulcan strength to beat the shit out of me while his pretty little girlfriend cheered him on.”

The events play out around them and Shamhat turns a baleful glare upon him.  “I think you owe Lt. Uhura more respect than that.  I _know_ Enkidu taught you better.”

Khan finds himself laughing.

“You’re right.  She’s beautiful and has a deadly, intelligent grace that neither Kirk nor Spock seem to appreciate as they should.”

“She’ll teach them, I imagine.”

“They put me back in stasis,” says Khan, and Shamhat nods.  “So all we need is to wake up.”

 

Datafile 6

Lt. Commander Spock, First Officer and Chief science officer of the _USS Enterprise_ had been designated to greet Commander Richard Dawson, Captain of the _USS Hunter’s Paradise_ and his companion, Dr. Enlil Dumont of the University of Calisthere, on Solien II.  The two men had been added to the ship’s compliment at the last moment, creating an irritating shift in the expected routine that Spock had been up all night putting to rights.

Admiral Archer’s orders had been very strange.  Commander Dawson and Dr. Dumont were to be given complete access to the cargo that they were delivering to Research Site 23, yet they were to be monitored at all times – without their knowledge.  The Captain had chewed his lips rather thoughtfully when the orders came in, though he had not openly expressed concern.  The covert nature of the expected surveillance, combined with what was supposed to be an open and willing access to the… subjects… indicated that something was going on.

Something that the admiralty had either not seen fit to tell the command staff of the _Enterprise_ about, or _had_ informed the Captain and enjoined him to keep secret.

Spock was… dissatisfied with either possibility.  The safety of his ship and the crew was one of his primary concerns and it was most illogical of the admiralty (or the Captain) to keep him ignorant of anything that might have an impact upon those duties.

“The station indicates that our passengers are ready to board, Commander.”  The ensign at the transporter controls fidgeted slightly as Spock turned to consider him.  Nodding slightly to the young woman he turned back toward the pad.

“Energize.”

The hum of the transporter engaged, visible energy spinning in shimmering tubes as the men solidified into view.  His mother, ever human and sentimental, would have called the sight beautiful.  Being Vulcan and of a more prosaic nature, Spock found watching the patterns interesting from a mathematical standpoint.  It was one of the few places one could actually see the waveforms of subatomic structuring play out and it never lost its fascination for him.

When the two men finished materializing, Spock found it somewhat difficult to maintain an impassive countenance.  Each exuded a palpable kind of _presence_ that he had only felt in the company of a few humans, and rarely so strongly that it seemed almost a physical blow.  Kirk had it.  In the year since Dr. McCoy’s unprecedented – some might say miraculous – revival of the Captain, Kirk’s already expansive mental signature had become a wash of hot, welcome sunlight whenever he entered a room.

Dr. Balsdottir, who was registered with the Federation as being psychically gifted, had felt much like the void of space, littered with distant and strangely glorious stars and streaked by lightning. Spock had only ever encountered anything like it once before, and he did not much care to consider the time he had spent with Khan, or the rage the man had unwittingly set free.  In retrospect he had allowed his reaction to Khan to echo through his encounters with Dr. Balsdottir, which had been illogical and poorly done of him.  He hoped that if they should meet again that he would be able to evaluate her upon her own merits, as licentious as they might be.

Spock did not want to make that same mistake here, where Captain Dawson stood firm, like an ancient mountain reaching for the sky, unchanged and unchangeable but through the relentless erosion of time.  Dr. Dumont was more alien, as Spock imagined storm-fed river would feel – a sense of death and destruction barely penned behind high levees, a relentless strength of change that swept away all before it.  Yet there was a sense of burgeoning life there, too, like rich silt suspended within the river waters, waiting to settle and encourage new growth.  For a moment it was overwhelming to his senses, before vanishing to the faintest pulse of awareness.

Even for a Vulcan, it was extremely disconcerting.

“Commander Dawson, Dr. Dumont, I am Commander Spock, First Officer of the _Enterprise._   I am enjoined to bid you welcome and lead you to your assigned quarters and workspace.”

Dr. Dumont’s lips twitched slightly before he made a shallow bow.

“Commander.”

He did not hold out a hand to be shaken and for a moment Spock was unsure of whether he should appreciate the gesture or be mildly regretful of the fact he would have no opportunity to taste the man’s thoughts.  Spock waited for the assigned crewmen to gather their guests’ luggage and then gestured toward the door, puzzled by his own reaction.  The courtesy should simply have been welcomed and Spock should not have had even the briefest moment’s desire to violate the man’s mind.  He would have to meditate upon it tonight.

“Please lead on,” said Commander Dawson, with a friendly smile.  Spock nodded cordially and headed through the doorway.

“The Captain asked me to relay an invitation to eat with him in the officer’s mess this evening, once Alpha shift has ended.”

“We would be pleased,” said Commander Dawson.  “I know that you and Captain Kirk must get tired of the people who want to fangirl you, but I admit that I have wanted to make your acquaintance for a while.  Starfleet is always in need of officers who will do what needs to be done and can think outside of the box.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.  “It can become… tiresome.”

Dr. Dumont huffed a small breath, seeming to retain some small amount of laughter.

“Yes, well,” said the doctor.  “When you save the world in spectacularly public ways, you have no choice but to put up with the notoriety that comes with it, or so I am given to understand. If you and your captain wish to receive a smaller, more meaningful level of adulation, I strongly suggest you save the world in a more subtle manner.”

“Perhaps,” said Spock, finding only earnestness and sincerity in the doctor’s face and tone, but still having the feeling of being mocked.  “In the end it is but a minor inconvenience.”

“Good to know,” said Dumont, smiling easily.  “It’s good to know that you are so very sensible about it.  Heroes so rarely have such good sense – idiotic levels of bravery are usually one of the hallmarks of being a hero after all.  It’s worse when fame goes to their heads.  So much worse.  One ends up as a Beowulf or an Achilles or an Enkidu that way.  Not really a goal to aspire to, all of that random death for no good reason.”  He pauses.  “Or a Sigurd. _No one_ wants to be a Sigurd.  It’s something that one really should consider avoiding at all costs.  Well, most costs.  If being Sigurd actually spared the world Ragnarok, I suppose it would actually be worthwhile.”

Commander Dawson coughed.

“Are you all right, Commander?” asked Spock, unsure of how to respond to Dumont’s rambling, other than to wonder why a medical doctor and xenobiologist would rattle off such a list.  He would have to look up the names and discover why he and the Captain should avoid emulating such beings.

“Yeah, sorry, I just inhaled wrong is all,” said the commander, ears tinged a faint pink.

Spock did not miss the oddly sarcastic glance Dr. Dumont shot at him.

As he led the two men to the ambassadorial suite they had been assigned, they bickered in a way that seemed oddly intimate for men who had supposedly met by chance a few weeks before.  Had Spock met them without any background information at all, he would have come to the conclusion that the two were old friends, but that made no sense.  Dr. Dumont had been born and raised on Solien II and Commander Dawson – also colony born, from Demosthenes VIII – was from the other side of the Federation.

It was an intriguing puzzle, one that he was oddly sure that Admiral Archer wanted the crew of the _Enterprise_ to solve.

 

 

“So, here’s what we’ve got.”  Áedán said, unfurling the pages of ship design he held in his small hands.  “Arthfael is a sneaky fucking bastard is what.  Obnoxious little prick, yeah?  One that’ll find any exploit there is to be had, anywhere and at any time.”

Nike let a small smile touch her lips as Áedán clambered up onto the table, picking up a long stick so he could point to what he was talking about.  The small red-head could have been no more than ten or eleven when he met his first death, having barely entered puberty, and as always it made her heart ache to think that he had died so young and the things that he had had to do in order to survive to the present day.  In her time he had been an ancient Druid, a being of great power and wisdom respected throughout the isles by the peoples who lived there.

Some said that he was one of the chosen of the gods, one of the memory keepers, the repositories of history and truth.  Perhaps it was true, for he had survived where so many others had fallen, stuck in the body of a child and vulnerable to anyone he could not outwit or outrun.

Áedán’s eyes met hers and it seemed as though he could hear her thoughts.  He flickered a content smile at her and she nodded, acknowledging that it did not matter.  They were survivors, she and Áedán, and Arthfael, too, though he had entered their lives later.  And Condan.  Khan.

Her daughter’s husband, her husband’s counselor, the one he rarely heeded and doubtless should have.  The man who had known Mattias Arturius and turned him away on pain of torment.

Mattias.  Methos.

The man she had never forgiven, because she knew that there had been nothing to forgive.  It had been impossible not to know what he had suffered to make him compliant to Calulla Cassandra’s will.  She had seen the punishment he had received for not being crueler and more vicious in his reluctant use of her daughter’s bodies, and watched the vicious execution he had endured for having the gall to ensure their escape.

The man who planned her escape from Roman hands and only come with her because she had shoved a dagger through his heart and carried him with her.

The man who had never forgiven himself for _her_ failures.  It had been so easy to become overconfident.  From the moment she and her army had flooded out of the hills, the Romans had been cowards and easily routed.  He had warned her that their army needed training; that their men, who were excellent warriors, needed to learn how to effectively deal with trained and blooded soldiers.  He had told her to consolidate her hold and fortify their positions.  Others would rally to them – how could they not?  The Iceni were not the only ones declared worthless, their populations gutted by slavers.

Indeed, in some places, had not the slaves themselves risen up to be liberated from their owners, adding club and stone to sword and arrow?

Yet she had been high on victory, ready to try and expel the vile usurpers from their shores.  Like a fool she had met Paulinus’ army in the open, and spent the lives of her men like water against a boulder.

She had never thought of the cost if they had failed.  She had never considered that the families of their men had followed as part of their supply trains.  It was only as she was speared in the back by someone whose face she never saw that she even considered the slaughter that might follow her loss.

Nor had she thought she would awaken from that wound, or that Mattias would cheerfully knife her in the heart to ensure that she was returned to her daughters.

They’d found them in the lowlands controlled by the woad-covered picts, on a small farmstead whose crops grew plentiful.  Nike hadn’t wanted to go there, hadn’t wanted to face her daughters with the weight of the blood that stained her hands and heart.  Mattias had solved the argument by stabbing her in the back and severing her spine.  He’d carried her to the door and handed her off to Condan, before leaving their lives under threat of far worse than death.

It had taken centuries for her to find him again.

And even now, he would rarely meet her eyes, and the guilt and regret that lay within them always hit her like a hammer blow.

Nike shook her head slightly, pulling herself back into the present.

“So what have you and Arthfael done?”

Arthfael planted his hands on the table.

“We can have the _Pagan Solstice_ in place in about twenty-six hours, which I would advise because it would be helpful to actually have some data on the gravitic anomaly that Mr. MacLeod located.  It would be foolish of us not to be able to provide a look at what we’re studying, and it will give us a reason to have experimental field-generating equipment on board.”  He looked up at Áedán who nodded.

“Warp engines have an unfortunate vulnerability,” he continued, “that we discovered by accident when we were working on a more efficient artificial gravity system aboard the _Bifrost_.  The system worked – but we couldn’t initiate warp, or stay in it, while the field was active.  It took us almost three years to bypass the issue so we could sell the modules within Federation space.”

“An’ another ten for us to turn it into a weapon without completely fucking the target ship’s systems.  Ain’t no point in taking a ship an’ not bein’ able to fly it.”  Áedán pointed at a spot in the engines.  “They’ll drop outa warp an’ find that the conduits here have blown to Hell.  Ain’t especially likely that any crew will be nearby – it’s a dangerous place t’be while the warp drive is running, what with it bein’ lethal and all that.”

“And they won’t be able to leave immediately?”

“Eh, there’s a quick patch that’d like as take an hour or so, but I’d’nae want to use it when four or thereabout would do the job right.  They’re in no great hurry an’ they ain’t goin’ to be under fire.  Gives us time to give ’em a proper welcome and be all unsuspicious-like.”

“Áedán, you’re not capable of being non-suspicious.”

Áedán grumbled.  “I’m more’n capable of actin’ like this one’s prodigy child, if she c’n manage to act like she’s got a heart instead of an ice block.”

“That block of ice has saved you more than a few times,” Nike said coolly.

“You could pose as mine,” said Cassandra, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“Nah, you’ve the wrong coloration, an’ you know it lass.  You didn’t spend five hundred years in the highlands of Scotland an’ not learn that you were a fair exotic beauty.”

Cassandra nodded back with a sharp little smile.

“True enough,” she said.  “So what is my task in this fine little drama?”

“You’ve got your engineering certs as I recall.”

Cassandra nodded.  “I do.”

“Your job is to help them get their ship moving – but not before we have achieved our goal.”

“I can do that,” said Cassandra, smiling.  “I’ve heard of their engineer, Montgomery Scott.  It should be easy enough to distract him.”

Nike gave her a wintery smile.  “I’m sure.”

“Will we be havin’ some o’ them here?” asked Áedán.  “For certain, I mean.”

“We don’t know, but we have to be prepared for them to do so,” said Arthfael.  “They may ask to see our data – we’re in recognized Federation space but there aren’t many non-Starfleet vessels that do research work outside of the core areas of the Federation’s claimed volumes.  We, however, have a number of such vessels, all assigned in the far reaches of Federation space, so while it will be unusual for them to find us there, it will not actually be strange.  Even so, they are a Starfleet ship and it _is_ Starfleet’s job to ensure that we’re not doing something nefarious, like ferrying slaves, or stolen dilithium, or just engaged in smuggling or piracy in general.”

Áedán grumbled.  “I’ll be glad enough when we’re done w’ Earth.”

“Soon,” said Nike.  “The last of Tiamat’s archive has been transferred to the _Warrior’s Soul_ and they’ll be out of Federation space within the next twenty-four Standard hours.  They’ll be back on Halcyon within four days, and at that point it’s just monitoring for pre-immortals.”

Arthfael nodded.  “When this is done, we can go home.”

“So we will,” sighed Áedán.  “An’ we’ll finally bring the children home.”

They all fell silent at the thought.

“It will be over,” said Arthfael finally, turning his eyes to the wide viewport where Earth hung like a blue jewel against the endless backdrop of space.

“Yes,” said Cassandra, eyes alight with anticipation.  “It will finally come to an end.”


	7. Archive 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things do not precisely go to plan. The morality of medical experimentation is discussed, and Duncan is unimpressed by the security of the Enterprise.

Datafile 7

The next days passed swiftly.  Methos spent his time examining the cryotubes – all but one were in excellent repair, and showed signs of frequent and thoughtful maintenance.  It made his heart ache to think on it and caused his soul to rage in a fury he could not express, because the source of it was dead.

The younglings in the tubes had grown into what had probably been a restrictive adulthood before Khan had undoubtedly coaxed them into cryo-sleep.  Methos couldn’t help but wonder if Khan had promised to follow them down into that slumber, only to remain awake and aware, caring for his ship and for his family.  He wondered how many crew Marcus had sacrificed to Khan’s blade, or if he had merely transported Khan off of his ship, shocked and unaware until he was in a holding cell and the children once again hostages to fortune.

As Arthfael was so very fond of saying, “Caring is not an advantage.”

It was an aphorism that always made Methos want to punch him in the face.  He still had trouble believing that he and Khan had faked a sibling relationship for the British Government.  The Gilgamesh he had known would have ground Arthfael’s face into the dirt for such principle.

Of course, Khan was no more the Gilgamesh he had known than he was still Enkidu.  Enkidu had died the moment he’d killed for the sake of mercy and taken a quickening he had never wanted.  Methos had been forged in the flames of Enkidu’s rage and tempered under the hammer of his hate.  Honed by his own vicious determination, Methos had arisen from Enkidu’s ashes as a flaming sword of star-metal, and death had followed him in a raging tide.

He had ridden pale horses and unleashed the fury of Kronos and his ilk upon the world, letting it burn beneath his rage.

Methos could not condemn Khan for his willingness to do that and more in the wake of greater and worse betrayal.  He could not even find it within himself to care much about what had happened when Khan had driven that massive ship into San Francisco, other than the fact that Khan had failed in his goal.

Every time he sees Spock, he wonders if the young Vulcan knows that if the children had died, the whole of the Vulcan species would have followed.

Like Ba’al, Methos did not forget and forgiveness is not high on his list of personal accomplishments.  Despite the softening effect that Duncan has had on him over the centuries, he would not balk at xenocide.  It’s just a small step up from genocide, and he’s managed that before, albeit on a smaller scale.

The only real hiccup came the first night that Dr. McCoy managed to get off shift on time and come to dinner while Methos was present.  His rage flared, pulsing through him with the beat of a forge’s bellows, as the doctor took a seat at the table with an amiable smile.

“I’d like to introduce you to Bones,” the Captain gives him a wary look, undoubtedly feeling the flood of Methos’ anger through the aura he can’t be bothered to suppress.  Spock simply watched them all with a faintly quizzical expression on his face.

“I know who Dr. McCoy is.”  Methos’ voice overflowed with soft menace.  “And I will not break bread with him or any of his ilk.”

“M— Enlil, really?”

Methos stared at Duncan with Death behind his eyes.

“Dr. McCoy,” he stated with clipped precision, “Has chosen to overlook all of the existing federation statutes regarding medical or biological research upon sentient beings.  While I appreciate the fact that Captain Kirk has… benefitted from the doctor’s reckless experimentation, I know for a _fact_ that he continues to take biological samples from the beings in cryostasis without their knowledge _or their consent_ , apparently upon the assumption that so-called Augmented humans are not _people_ with all the rights that accrue unto them by the simple fact of their existence.”

“Here, how –”

“Do not speak to me, doctor.” Methos turned his gaze upon the doctor and was pleased to see the man turn white.  “I am here as an observer, to see what, exactly, is planned for the beings within those pods.  If your behavior is anything like what is expected to occur at Site 23, I will be openly challenging this behavior in the press and the federation courts.”

“They’re _Augments,_ ” said McCoy.

“Which makes them less than human, how?” asked Duncan, sounding perturbed.

“They think that we are,” said Kirk, sharp-edged and growing angry.

“How strange that he would think so,” retorted Methos, “When you insist on _acting without humanity._   I’ve read the reports, Captain.  Tell me, would you consider yourself to be morally superior to beings that held you hostage, forced you to labor on things you had no desire to create, and used the leverage of the lives your _family_ as both the carrot and the stick?”

Kirk’s mouth snapped closed, blue eyes blazing.

“What I know is that he murdered thousands – no, _millions_ in his time and does not deserve even a moment’s sympathy.”

“And so does not deserve even the basic rights you’d grant a Klingon or a Romulan,” Methos smiled mirthlessly.  “It’s good to know that you are, indeed, so morally superior.”

“Doctor Dumont is quite correct,” said Spock, looking ever-so-faintly distressed.  “Even if Khan is essentially a war-criminal, it does not abrogate his basic rights as a person to not be experimented on.  The Federation may deprive him of his freedom or of his life, but only after a fair trial and conviction.  Indeed, I am uncertain that it is, in fact, legal under federation law for us to retain Khan or his crew in suspended animation.”

McCoy’s expression soured, as though he had bitten into a lemon.

“I am sorry if it upsets you doctor.  I cannot state that I am pleased with this train of logic myself.  But you must also consider the fact that you are taking samples from his crew, who were entirely innocent of the events of last year.  None of them can be considered to be at fault for the actions of Khan or Admiral Marcus. As such, the argument that Starfleet or the Federation has the right to do as it pleases with them due to their status as criminals is spurious.”

“They are _Augments_ ,” repeated McCoy.  “They should not even _exist._   They’re not people, they are genetic experimentation gone rogue.  They should be put down like rabid animals they are.  But if we’re going to keep them in stasis, we might as well get what use we can out of them.”

Kirk nodded his agreement and Duncan slammed a hand down on the table.

“Enlil is right. If this is the core of Starfleet Ethics, I’ll have none of it either.” Duncan’s eyes blazed like the heart of a new sun.  “Not him nor any like him.  Good day, Captain.”

They left, baleful eyes glaring holes in their backs.  There was little doubt that word of the disagreement will spread through the ship within minutes and make them pariahs by ship’s morning.  Methos couldn’t bring himself to care.

 

“Have you encountered that often?” asked Duncan, pouring them both a generous measure of real whiskey.

“The idea that there are sentients that aren’t really people, or that if anyone managed to find Khan and his crew, they should be experimented upon much like any other foreign biological?” Methos took a sip, relaxing against the couch.  “All the time.  I was forced to stop teaching Ethics in Xeno and Medical Ethics because I kept failing everyone.  I liked to use the Augments as an example – the one thing that is constantly overlooked is that even though an Augment might be the result of genetic tampering on some level, it’s not as though most of them _chose_ their creation.

“Not that that ever mattered to anyone.  Humans are as speciesist as they come. We’re just a bunch of assholes, when it comes down to it, so it’s no surprise when you need a sledgehammer to get a point across.” Methos took another sip.  “But even the ones who you’d expect to have empathy or ethics – like the Vulcans, would just be utter fail.  Under normal circumstances a Vulcan recognizes that their ‘natural superiority’ doesn’t mean that it’s okay to lock up Ferengi and vivisect them just to see how they work.  But hand them a case-study using Augments or genetically engineered or altered beings, and they would wrinkle their noses at the manipulation and fail to recognize the personhood of the beings created.  Fun times.  In the end I quit before I could become murderous.”

“Christ.”

“I wish I was joking.” Methos sighed.  “I should have kept my temper, but McCoy hasn’t even been _subtle_ about getting samples to work with.  The beings in those pods aren’t actually people to him at all.  I’ve gotten the impression that he didn’t much consider _Khan_ to be a person, even when they didn’t realize he was… an Augment.  I’m not clear if he felt that being a prisoner deprives a person of humanity or he is just that way.”

“I don’t really care,” said Duncan.  “I wouldn’t have him treat me or any of my people if he’s that, that… stubborn when he thinks he’s right.”

“People in glass houses, Richie.”

Duncan laughed.

“Fair point, I guess.”

“I _really_ shouldn’t have lost my temper.” Methos swirled the amber liquid around in its glass.  “It’s not like I didn’t know he was here.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with the tubes and evaluating them and the people they hold.”

“I’ve made some few evaluations, yes.”  Methos’ glance slid to one of the well-hidden security cameras.  “What records have survived show that Khan escaped on the Botany Bay with approximately a dozen youths between the ages of fourteen to sixteen, and approximately sixty children under the age of ten.  Each person within those cryotubes is – from an evaluation of outward appearance only – in their twenties.  It seems clear that Khan must have known that cryostasis would likely be a danger to children, particularly those going through or about to go through puberty.”

“So Khan would have raised them?” Duncan hid a small smile behind his glass as he took a sip.

“Yes.  He undoubtedly views them as his children.”

“No wonder he lost it,” said Duncan.  “I mean, I personally wouldn’t have tried to drop a spaceship on a city, but I’m not sure I wouldn’t have done my level best to kill the asshole who’d done it.”

“I know, right?” Methos gave a little shrug.  “It’s almost as though Khan is a person with feelings.  A ruthless person with feelings, but a person with feelings none-the-less.”

 

“I can’t believe they’re sympathizing with that bastard,” said McCoy as he, Kirk, and Spock stood in Security watching the feed from the ambassadorial suite.  “He destroyed San Francisco, for God’s sake.”

“I do not believe he did so in the name of your God, Doctor,” replied Spock, considering the scene thoughtfully.  “I believe he did so in the name of revenge.”

“Well, there’s probably a God for that somewhere,” said Kirk.  “I hate it that he’s right.”

“What?”

“Bones, what would you do to someone who killed Joanna?”

McCoy flinched.  “It doesn’t matter, because it’s not the same thing at all.”

“Isn’t it, Doctor?” Spock raised an eyebrow.  “I find that it is easier to understand Khan’s actions if I compare them to my own when Vulcan was destroyed.  Had Nero and  his ship been orbiting Romulus, I believe I would have been willing to drive the ship into the surface, killing millions on impact and rendering the planet itself uninhabitable for millennia.”

“You wouldn’t have done such a thing, you green blooded hobgoblin.”

“Oh, I would have indeed,” said Spock, matter-of-factly.  “My level of emotional compromise was extreme.”

“Even if you would have, it doesn’t excuse what he did!”

“And it doesn’t excuse what we’ve been doing either,” said Kirk.  “I’m not going to stop you from working with the samples you have, Bones, but you’re not to take any more.”

“Jim –”

“That’s an order, doctor.” The Captain placed a hand on McCoy’s shoulder.  “I know you want to figure out what was done to Khan and the others.  I know you want to figure out if any of it can be artificially synthesized as medications, or if what was done to them can be reversed – but what you’re doing now _is wrong._ And I’ve been wrong to allow it just because I can see how beneficial it _could_ be.  The goals are just, Bones, but that doesn’t make your actions right, and you know it.”

McCoy sighed.

“We brought you back to life, Jim.  Think of how many others could be helped.”

“And if the only solution was draining Khan of his blood to synthesize medications?”

McCoy opened his mouth and shut it again, shoulder’s hunching.

“Bones, you can’t keep the man in a coffin in your office on the off chance someone will need his blood.” Kirk looked equal parts amused and horrified.  “Seriously, no.  That’s just not okay.”

“I know that!” He sighed.  “But what if you’d had it on hand when Pike was shot?”

“Well, I didn’t.” Kirk turned away from the feed.  “And if Marcus hadn’t done what he did, Khan never would have been the threat he was.  Hell, if I’d throttled my anger and treated him with the least bit of respect, especially after he warned us about the danger the ship was in, perhaps it would not have gone so badly to begin with.”

“I am not certain there could have been a much better outcome,” said Spock.  “Short of my turning over his people and allowing Khan to leave with the Vengeance.  Although, in retrospect, I believe I should simply have stated that I was willing to exchange his people for ours and at least a tow to the nearest Starbase.  As it is, we are absurdly fortunate that the Klingons did not take issue with our behavior in Q'onoS nearspace.”

“Thank fuck for that,” said Bones. “Still, you couldn’t let him have the ship, Spock.  You weren’t wrong to try and prevent that.”

“No,” Spock acknowledged.  “But the lives of the crew should have been more paramount in my mind.  Khan had already admitted that he would do anything for his crew – his family.  He asked what we would be willing to sacrifice for the men and women of this ship.  I assure you, doctor, depending on the circumstance, a planet is likely the least of what I would take to ensure the survival of our people.”

Kirk and McCoy stared at him.

“I will not lose more than I must,” said Spock. “Not after losing so much.  I did not understand that until he struck San Francisco.”

“You’re a pacifist.”

Spock shook his head.  “No. Not any longer and perhaps never again.  I do not advocate violence.  I will do my best to avoid it.  But I will never surrender my charges or my people without making an aggressor pay.”

“How very human of you,” observed Kirk, drily.

“Yes.” He looked at his captain.  “Do you disagree?”

“Not particularly,” said Kirk as McCoy gaped at them.

“You’re both insane.”

“Perhaps, doctor.  But as it is an insanity that will likely keep you alive, you should welcome it.”

 

Eight days later the ship dropped out of warp and Methos smiled grimly.  The power to converted shuttle bay he was in failed, causing the internal power of the cryotubes to come online in a surge of beeping and a wave of interfering EM that will fuzz out the security cameras for a few seconds.  A moment later the tubes flashed away in the distinct manner of Áedán and Arthfael’s beaming tech, only to be replaced by identical tubes that seem to contain the same beings.  Methos smirks, calmly moving from pod to pod checking the connections to the ship’s power.

When a red-shirted member of the security forces turns up, he’s on the last one, just in time to look like he’s disconnected them all before power to the bay returns to normal.

“Dr. Dumont?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve been sent to escort you to the bridge.”

“Have you now?” He considered the young man seriously.  “I’ve only just finished disconnecting –”

“The Captain wishes to see you. _Now._ ”

“As the Captain wishes,” said Methos, donning a mask of curiosity.  “What happened?”

“That isn’t for me to say,” said the ensign.  “Please follow me.”

“All right.”

Methos followed as asked, absently noting that whatever the young security officer had said, he wasn’t being led toward the bridge.  Bridge, Brig, they sounded the same and had a lot of the same kinds of boredom.

“Fascinating what change in pronunciation gets you,” he said as he comes in to find Duncan actually shackled.  “How are you doing over there, Richie?”

“I’ve been better.” Duncan has a bloody nose and a black eye.  There are several red-shirted crewmen who are nursing far worse.

“So,” says Kirk brightly.  “A little bird told us that there might be an attempt to steal our cargo.  Admiral Archer wasn’t sure – he wanted to give Dawson here the benefit of the doubt – but what do you know, we really did fall out of warp, and you totally disconnected the cryotubes for transport.”

Methos raises a brow.  “I’ve been studying the tubes, Captain.  It is not wise to introduce ship’s power while their own internal sources are online.  Which I assume you know, since you waited until I was done to turn the power back on.”

“Yeah, well, I like the lack of explosion as much as the next guy.” Kirk rubbed his chin.  “But, still.  You and Dawson, not exactly what you seem on the surface.”

“And what do we seem like on the surface?”

“Like normal people.” The bright, friendly smile faded.  “Which you’re not.”

Methos rolled his eyes.  “Really?  That’s the best you can do?”

“You’re Augments, says our little bird.  Or descended from them,” said Kirk.  “Which is kind of a problem, since genetically enhanced humans aren’t permitted to be created.”

“So I’m given to understand,” said Methos, with a small smirk.  “And?”

“You’ll be turned over to Federation Security when we reach Seraph IX.” Kirk smiled grimly.  “I’ve already sent Spock over to your ship to apprehend the crew and take command.”

Duncan started laughing.  “Oh, that’ll go over well.  The commander of that ship isn’t going to turn her over.”

“And my first officer has no compunctions about doing what he must.”

“And Wingèd Victory has never had an issue with overwhelming retaliation.”

“Bridge to Kirk.” Lt. Uhura’s smooth voice chimed over the intercoms.  “We need you on the bridge, sir.”

“What’s wrong, Uhura?”

“We’ve picked up a priority subspace message from Seraph IX.  They are currently under attack by unidentified vessels.  From the accompanying footage, Lt. Sulu believes them to be of mixed Romulan and Klingon design, corresponding to the known mercenary group Brogan’s Bandits.” Startled exclamations could be heard in the background.  “Sir, the _Pagan Solstice_ has… has disappeared sir.”

 _“What?”_ Kirk looked flummoxed and Methos laughed. “Scotty!”

“That’s my Boudicca,” said Methos fondly.  “If there’s a battle to be had where she’s unprepared and likely to lose, she’s eager for it.”

Kirk glared at him.

“Aye, sir?”

“How soon can you get us moving?”

“I’m goin’ as fast as I can, sir, but a patch’ll only hold for so long and not under combat conditions.”

“We have to get to Seraph IX as soon as we’re able.”

“Lad, we’re two days out at max warp, an’ we’ll only be achievin’ that if I spend the time to completely repair the conduits.  As it is, we’ve barely got the parts we need for it.”

“He should check his stores,” Duncan said to Methos.  “I doubt that she left without sending over the necessary supplies.”

“No doubt,” Methos agreed.

“Just do as well as you can, Scotty,” Kirk glowered at them.  “Just what the fuck is going on?”

“I’m not certain,” said Methos.  “I was just working on preventing unnecessary explosions when I was dragged here.”

“I was reading in my quarters. When this lot jumped me.”  Duncan frowned.  “And badly.  How many hand-to-hand certifications do you lot even have?  I’ve been ambushed by drugged up gang members who were more coordinated and capable than you.”

“Shut up!” snarled the senior officer on shift.  “You should have come along quietly.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” asked Duncan.

Kirk growled in frustration and the red-alert sirens began to blare.

“Captain to the bridge!  Unidentified vessels closing in.”

The ship shuddered as something impacted the shields.

“Shields currently holding at 93%” warbled a young Russian voice.

Kirk activated his comm, running for the door.

“Sulu, Checkov!  Fire at will!”

“SHITFUCK,” echoed back.  _“BRACE FOR IMPACT.”_


	8. Archive 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An enemy revealed, a chase instated, and an unfortunate surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Temporary character death. Highlander, remember?

“I must insist that you return to the _Enterprise_ immediately.”

Nike didn’t bother looking back.

“Commander Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Do, as the American’s say, shut your piehole.” Nike’s fingers danced along the command console.  “Áedán, how are we for cloak?”

“Oh, our princess is all dressed up and ready to party, your highness.”

“I remember a time when you were staid and serious,” Nike remarked, engaging the cloaking field and arranging the layers of shield beneath it.  “Arthfael, please ensure that our passengers are safe and secure.  I wouldn’t want any more injuries than absolutely required.”

“Captain Nike –”

“Commander, you heard the distress call the same way I did.  And unlike the Enterprise I can get there in under an hour.  So if you please, do shut the fuck up unless you are willing to aid us in eliminating –” she frowned, glancing down at the analysis, “— _Brogan’s Bandits._   Really?  They couldn’t come up with a more inventive name?”

The turbolift door opened and Tia came out, clipping a survival belt to her waist.  “Sorry, Nike, I was with Arthfael.”

Tia slid into the available seat for tactical and Nike released weapons control to her.

“How long until Arthfael is free?”

“Five minutes or less, he’s almost done.”

“Excellent, we’re less than ten from drop-out.”

“Where’s Cassandra?”

“I suspect she’s in the main communications array,” said Tia.

Nike snorted and tapped out a few commands.  “No bet.  Leave her there, she’s not had any space combat experience that I’ve heard of.”

“It’s Cass.  She was born for battle,” Tia’s eyes seemed to almost glow and her presence flooded the command deck.  “Arthfael’s here.”

“Pilot,” said Nike, releasing the controls to that station.  She finally glanced back, noting the cool, composed features of Commander Spock and his security detail.  “Commander, you are welcome to stand as witness if you wish, but do not interfere.”

“I do not understand.  Why would you go to the rescue of Seraph IX?  Our information is that you would attempt to take the station in order to steal other, similar cargo to that you wanted to gain from the _Enterprise.”_

“Commander,” Nike said tightly.  “If I ever hear you refer to sentient beings as _cargo_ again, I will have you whipped until your vocabulary improves.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Nike,” said Tia.  “Drop out in nine.”

“We are very concerned about what is going on at Research Site 23, but it was not our intent to take the station.  That is the reason for having a representative go out there to investigate.”

“Site 23 is simply a medical research facility.”

“To which you were delivering sentient beings who were given no alternative options, most of whom are completely innocent of any crime other than that of existing.”

“Drop out in seven.”

“Captain, if you were concerned about the welfare of other Augments, you should have approached the Federation Council.”

“Yes, because beings that have no idea what they mean by _Augment_ and who have determined that we have no right to _exist,_ will treat us fairly.  The best any so-called Augment can expect at the hand of the Federation is a lifetime of menial servitude, because what they are – through no fault of their own – is considered an unfair advantage that cannot be used.” Her lips curved into a bitter smile.  “Unless, of course you have the upper hand and can force them to do your bidding, as was done with Khan.”

“Drop out in four.”

“If you’re willing to take a few words of advice, Commander – always remember this:  those deemed an Augment, regardless of source, regardless of accomplishment, and regardless of standing will be stripped of everything they ever were so they may be used as tools at the hands of your _Federation._ ”

“Drop out in drop out in one.  Strap in or sit the fuck down people.”

Realspace appeared upon the monitors and they could see a dozen ships bombarding Seraph IX.

“Curious,” said Arthfael, banking sharply left and down.  “They appear to be specifically targeting the docking ring and communications center, if I recall the station design correctly.”

“They do indeed,” said Nike, activating the holosimulator of the battlefield.  “Let’s teach them a lesson or five about attacking unarmed research stations, shall we?”

“I would be delighted, your highness.”

“Tia, at you pleasure.  Start with that little bastard in the back.  The whole damn formation is designed to protect him.”

Tia grinned, a sweet and bloodthirsty expression that made Nike’s belly clench in inappropriate reaction.

“Oh, yeah,” long, artful fingers danced over the weapons controls.  “Civilians are a no-no, you shit-fucking imbeciles.  You wanna fight, take on some Klingons, they’ll show you a _really_ good time.”

Arthfael chuckled as her proposed course through the enemy ships popped up before him.

“Lady goddess, you get me so excited,” he deadpanned.  “Let us unleash the beast.”

In Tia’s laughter, Nike heard dragons of starlight and lightning _roar._

“Well,” said Duncan as the door closed, “that certainly sounds exciting.”

“Not to mention rather unexpected.” Methos turned and looked at Security.  “Are we actually being detained for anything?”

One of the guards pulled out a phaser.  “You’re Augments.  No one will care what we do with you.”

“Lt. Arbor, we can’t just kill them!” protested the ensign that had escorted Methos in.  “That’s murder.”

“Augments aren’t people, Joe.  They’re monsters.”

Several heads nodded and Methos sighed.

“Right then.”

As the words left Methos’ mouth the ship _shuddered_ , screaming in helpless violation.  Methos and Duncan held their feet by dint of centuries of will and awareness of their bodies, but the guards went down like tenpins.

“Run?” suggested Duncan.

“Run.”

They made it through the doors before the atmospheric lockdown protocols engaged, clearly indicating that the hull had definitely been breached.

“Boarding party.  For some reason I hadn’t expected that.”  Methos sighed.  “It’s always something.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting that we’d get tattled on at all.” Duncan looked down at his hands.  “Can you believe that the idiots cuffed me like this?”

“Well, manacles in front is always stupid,” said Methos.  “But it’s particularly idiotic since they believe us to be Augmented.”

“Well, time, tide and quickenings,” said Duncan, twisting his wrists and frowning in concentration.  After a moment the bracelets made a popping sound, the electronics fizzling out in acrid smoke.  “But still.  I’m a Starfleet Captain, that’s not how an arrest should go.”

“Well, the Fleet and the Academy were decimated,” Methos observed.  “I suppose the pickings are going to be slim for the next thirty years or so.”

“Still, it’s the principle of the thing.”

Methos laughed at the aggrieved tone.  “Honestly Mac, I begin to think you’re crazy.”

“I thought we agreed on that point when Ritchie died.”

“Well, yes.  But still, Mac.  _Enterprise_ , boarding party?”

“You figure they’re after the stasis pods?”

“Them or us,” said Methos.

“I’m assuming the boarding protocols are running – security will attempt to localize the breach and limit the access that they’ve got.”

“Hmmm.  Transporters offline do you think?”

“Only if it looks like the intruders might access them.”

Methos smiled slowly and Duncan shivered, because something inhuman glowed behind his eyes.  For all that he’d known that Methos had ridden a pale horse and deliberately scarred the psyche of newly-civilized humanity, he had never seen Death or felt the icy floodwaters of his presence.

“Well, now.  How convenient.”

“Methos –”

“Go to the bridge, Duncan.”

Not a request, not even a demand – just a cool instruction.

In three quick strides Methos approached one of the terminals in the wall, tapping in a few short commands.

“Computer, Alpha override J-sigma-delta-four-four-seven-alpha-epsilon-omega.”

“Command protocols instated.  Welcome aboard Admiral Adamson.”

“What do you know, I’m still in the system.”  The ironic twist of the lips was more like the Methos he knew, but the banked rage was unlike anything he’d seen.  “Computer, Authorize Alpha override J-alpha-gamma-five-two-one-nine-epsilon-omega-phi Commander Richard Dawson.”

“Command protocols instated.  What is your command, Captain Dawson?”

“Where is the breach?”

“Starboard levels eighteen through twenty two.  Atmospheric lockdown initiated.”

“Initiate boarding lockdown, activate security for rescue and evacuation.”

“Very good.  Give me at least ten minutes.”

“Given that I’ll have to go through the Jeffries tubes to reach the command level that shouldn’t be hard.”

“Go, Mac.”

“Don’t lose your head, Methos.”

“I’ll do my best.”

 

 

“Got you, you pox-ridden son of a demon-fucked tinker!”

Tia reveled in the red-gold oxygen-fed explosions as Arthfael streaked through the unaware fleet.  The surviving ships attempted to return fire, only to find that the phrase “Friendly fire isn’t” holds true in any age.

“Do you see –?  Excellent.” She and Arthfael moved like one mind in two bodies, their auras blended in to one vicious whole.  They wove through the debris field like an angry serpent, biting and spitting as they passed through their enemies.

“Tia, there!”  Nike’s voice reached her distantly, and Tia’s attention turned to a ship hovering above the ecliptic, cuddled up in one of the Romulan cloaks and heard herself laugh, low and gleeful.

“I love gravitic anomalies,” she said, taking aim while Arthfael spiraled ‘up’.

“Try to leave someone to talk to,” said Nike.  “Because I think we’re done here.”

“Spoilsport,” said Arthfael and Tia gave a theatric sigh, blowing their engines and sending a disruptive pulse through the cloak.

“Are they retreating?” asked Tia, who hadn’t really been paying attention.

“When have you ever left enough for people to retreat?”

Tia swiveled in her chair and considered Nike.  “Um.  Fuck, I don’t know.  Greece, probably.”

“You were a goddess of just war in Greece,” noted Arthfael.  “Not mindless slaughter.”

“I’ve never been a goddess of mindless slaughter,” Tia sniffed.  “You’re thinking of someone else.”

He snorted elegantly – a trick that Tia had tried to get him to teach her, because it was so wonderfully supercilious – and turned his attention to Nike.

“It’s going to take the Federation at least a couple of days to get here, you know.”

“Yes, well, that will give us as much time as we need to gather evidence from them.” Nike smiled and Tia grinned back at her.

“You cannot gather evidence against the crew of that ship,” said Spock, who appeared pale but unperturbed.  His security detail, however, appeared both stunned and horrified by the almost indiscriminant slaughter.  “What you have done here is against Starfleet regulation –”

“Commander,” said Tia.  “We’re not Starfleet.  And when it comes to the defense of un-armed planetary and space based settlements, we’re allowed to use whatever force we deem necessary to assure that the threat is neutralized.  So, I hate to break it to ya, but I could beam over there and slaughter the entire crew and the Federation wouldn’t be allowed to say ‘boo’ about it.”

“Why would they say boo?” asked Spock.

“Seriously?” asked Tia.

“Sherlock couldn’t have done that better,” Arthfael applauded.  “You’ve really got that down, Commander.”

Spock’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t understand.”

“I know,” Arthfael commiserated.  “But you will one day, I think, though it will be a long time from now.”

“It’ll be soon enough,” said Nike.  “Perhaps sooner than any of us would like to think.”

Tia nodded.

“Oh, for the love of the glorious fuck!” said Áedán.  “Why’re you still here sittin’ around like a bunch of loobies?  Cass decided to beam down to the research site while the lotta you were playing laser tag with the hired muscle.”

“Did she, now?” asked Tia, a slow smile blooming on her lips.  “How lovely.  Don’t you think it’s lovely Nike?”

“It’s beautiful, Tia.”

“What?”

Tia laughed softly.

“Commander Spock, are you at all interested in going out on an entirely consensual, totally platonic, probably violent, and certainly dangerous date with me?” She stood and sauntered over to him, invading his space with a sweet smile.  “I promise to give you at least some of the answers you seek.”

Spock considered her with dark, cool eyes, his faint presence pricking her like snow falling in the brilliant light of the Sahara.  “I will be required to bring my security team and I cannot assure you that I will not have you detained for Federation security.”

“Oh, baby, I assure you, I’ll leave your virtue intact,” said Tia.  “Your life?  No promises.  None of us ever gets a promise there.”

His security stiffened.

“Boys – and girl – I would like to point out that if we wanted you dead, you would be.  There’s no reason to let you watch the show and then leave your silent corpse behind somewhere.”  She paused, frowning.  “Although for a personal detail, you guys kind of suck.  You should never have allowed me to get that close, I don’t care how strong or well-trained the Commander is.  That’s just unacceptable.  Do better or find another job, because at this rate you’re going to end up dead.”

 

“Does anyone know who had the contract for the ladders in the Jeffries tubes?” Duncan asked as he stepped onto the bridge.  “Because nearly a third of the rungs are fucking defective.”

The argument between Kirk and some asshole on the screen came to an abrupt halt as all eyes turned to stare at him.

“Duncan MacLeod,” purred the man on the screen.  “Not quite the man I was looking for, but you’ll certainly do.”

Duncan nodded.  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. About to Die Horribly.  I’m sure that it’s been a blast dealing with you and your little dog, too.”

“How quaint you are, MacLeod.  Our contract was to let you live, but the rest of these idiot _mundanes_ are completely expendable.  I’ve heard that you’re a fair man – a just one.  Surely you can understand the value of their lives in the balance for the individual called Methos and his sleeping coterie.”

Duncan tilted his head.  “Huh.  You look vaguely familiar.  Have we met?”

“I am Brogan, late of London and other fair points upon our glorious Terra.  I was part of Operation Chrysalis, many years ago in a place called Baskerville.  I doubt that you’ve heard of it.”

“Ah,” said Duncan.  “Wanted posters after the explosion in… fuck, whatever year it was, I lose track.”

“I do not!” thundered Brogan.

“Yeah, I know,” said Duncan.  “That’s because you’re still a puling infant really.  Out of curiosity, who sent you?  I mean, I know you intend to kill all the mortals, because that’s what you and your kind _do_ , but as a favor, baby to… adolescent, how in fuck did you get caught up in this?”

“How _dare_ you?”

“You’re threatening a ship full of people who have never done a thing to you.  In the old days I’d’ve challenged you to honorable combat and taken your head for your malice.” Duncan shrugged.  “I’m not quite the same man I was, back in the day.”

“They’re just mortals,” Brogan snarled.  “Who _cares_ about them?  We aren’t the ones who went through hospitals and schools executing children and infants.  We weren’t the ones who lined up innocents to be beheaded with modern-day guillotines!”

“Neither are these people,” Duncan shot back. “None of them perpetrated those horrors.”

“They are no different!” Brogan howled, practically frothing at the mouth.  “How can you stand there and defend them?  How can you stand there and do _nothing_.”

“I am doing something,” said Duncan as Methos, blood-spattered from head to toe, came up behind him.  “I’m allowing Death to take his toll.”

Methos took his head, expressionless as bright mist rose from the body. The image fuzzed out as lightning shot through the bridge controls.

Silence descended over the bridge before Kirk turned, eyes bright with something like rage.

“What the fuck was that?”

Duncan looked back at him and said softly, “And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given unto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth.”

 

Dr. Hypatia Balsdottir – or Tiamat as her companions called her – led Spock down the series of corridors that led to their transporter bay.  Unlike the _Enterprise_ , where the transporters dedicated to human use were a small room near the center of the ship, this was a large, open area that seemed to have only one specific transporter pad that Spock could recognize, while the rest seemed to be simply empty.

“Áedán, you know the drill,” she said, as though the odd, foulmouthed child were in the room with them, and the world flashed white.

Spock blinked, only to find himself within what was clearly a biomedical research facility.  Alarm sirens blared a message of imminent death and destruction, and he heard Tiamat swear savagely in a language that the universal translator declined to interpret.

“I should never have freed her,” Tiamat growled, the power of her aura flaring almost overwhelmingly.  “Papa was fucking _right_ to entomb her.  What the fuck was I thinking?”

“I have no idea,” said Spock, baffled by her statement.  “Of whom do you speak?”

“Ishtar the Beautiful,” Tiamat spat.  “Goddess of sex and war and death on a scale that was once unthinkable.”

“You are insane,” said Spock.

“No,” said Tiamat.  “Just Immortal.”

She turned and looked at the security officers.  “Do you care more about the fact that I’m what you call an Augment, or the fact that there are innocent people in this facility who are about to die?”

Lt. Athk’q, one of the few members of Starfleet from a small world called B’tnr, stepped forward, catlike ears twitching.  “I don’t give a shit, what do we do?”

“Hold this position and search the surrounding rooms.  I’m going deeper to see if I can’t catch that bitch before she managed to actually blow the domes.  I’ll send out any survivors that I find.”

“I will go with you,” said Spock when she leveled a glare at him.  “You are wasting time.”

“Asshole,” she said, with an odd mix of anger and affection.  “On your own head, be it.”

She turned and raced down the corridor, faster than a human should be. He helped her clear each room that they passed, wincing as they found headless bodies and scorch marks in chamber after chamber.

“Hubris, thy name is Tiamat,” she whispered as they came across a handful of children, none of whom could be older than ten or twelve.  Unlike the others, they were not decapitated, but each lay in a wide pool of blood.  “That bitch.  How could she do _this?”_

Spock watched as arcs of blue lightning trailed over the children’s wounds, causing them to heal at an accelerated rate.  First one, then another began to breathe, sitting up with screams of panicked confusion.  Tia knelt down, ignoring the blood soaking into the shins of her shipsuit.

“This place isn’t safe.”

“W-we _know_ ,” wailed one boy, clearly shocked.  “Why did s-sh-she do that?”

“I don’t know,” said Tiamat.  “But I’m going to try and find out.  Do you know where the reception area is?”

One of the older girls, pale eyed and dark haired, nodded.

“Go there.  There are some Starfleet officers and it’s possible that a couple of my crewmates may have beamed down.”

“How?” asked one of the boys.  “They said no one could come in.”

“My ship is special,” was all Tiamat said.  “Go, the contamination alarms probably aren’t joking.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  They filed out in an orderly manner that seemed unnatural.

“One of mine.  At least one of _mine_.” Tiamat’s eyes shone bright with tears and something more. “She dares?  She dares to hunt the children of _my children?_ ”

“I do not understand.”

“I am old, Spock.” They moved down the corridor, finding mostly empty rooms.  “I told you, I am Immortal.  If you kill me, under most circumstances, I will just get back up.  There are exceptions, of course.”

Another room with a decapitated corpse.

“I had children when I was young, before I died the first time.  Many of those who have the potential to become Immortal come from my bloodline.  My own, personal diaspora.” She moved with an almost unnatural grace.  “And she chose to do _that,_ knowing that several of those children are _mine.”_

“How old?”

She snorted.  “You’d need an archaeologist to figure that out.  We didn’t… keep track of time in the same ways.  Best guess?  Six to seven thousand years.”

“How is it you could be an Augmented human, if you are so old?”

“It’s something the mortals got wholly and completely wrong in the Eugenics wars, Spock.”  Her strides slowed as they approached a door that was pulled from its hinges.  “There is no such thing as being Augmented, unless you mean by death.  Age and… other things… do the rest.”

Another alert sounded, warning that the facility was about to be sterilized via a long radiation pulse.

“We will need to move swiftly if we are to reach a safe zone,” Spock told her, surprised as she whirled, swift as thought.  It was only when the agony reached his brain that he realized she’d shoved a blade straight through his heart and into his lungs.

“I am sorry,” she whispered even as bright shining light took over his vision, haloing her in luminous white.  “So very, very sorry.”


	9. Archive 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> confrontations and bad guys

Methos shuddered through the last of the quickening, absorbing the last of Brogan’s essence with a ripple of distaste.  He had enough insanity of his own to deal with without having to wrestle the crazed personality of an arrogant child into submission.  He snarled low and foul when he saw the comm light blinking, showing that the ship was being hailed.

He activated the unit, unsurprised to find Cassandra’s face filling the viewscreen.

“Ah, Methos – although, I think I prefer Enkidu.  Can I call you that?  Call you Enkidu?  Does it matter?”

“I can’t take your head from this distance, so call me what you like.”

She smiled beatifically.  “So I can call you a base-born gutter-whore and you’ll answer to it?”

“Do you have a point, Ishtar?  I’m rather busy as it happens.”

“Oh, I can see that.” Her short laugh was cold and ugly.  “It seems that you haven’t changed at all despite all of Duncan’s prating.”

“Nor have you, despite all of _yours_.”

Ishtar hissed.

“Do you remember what I said to you when you buried me under a ton of rock?”

“That you would have your revenge, yadda, yadda, yadda, destroy everything that I loved, yadda, yadda, yadda, and make me watch, blah, blah, blah, blah.”  He stared at her blandly, brows raised in polite inquiry.  “Which was not the first evil dialogue I’d ever heard from you, although I suppose it was the last.  And the stupidest.  You’d already done all of that and made me _participate_ , which is far worse than just having to bear witness.”

She frowned, as though thrown off track.

“What happened before isn’t relevant, what I’m going to do _now_ is.”

“You’ve already murdered your way through site 23, I’m sure,” said Methos.  “Slaughter always was your style.  Killed any children yet?  That was always one of your favorites, looking for a child to replace the ones you can’t have yourself.”

“I left them for my pursuers to find.  I hope it’s Tia – one of the girls looks just like she did at that age,” said Ishtar.

“Mistake.”

“I’m going to take her head,” Ishtar hissed.  “And then I’m going to find her sweet little whore and fuck her under Tia’s unseeing eyes.  When I’m done, I’ll gut the little bitch and pour hot coals into her belly until she can’t hold any more.  I can’t wait to listen to that arrogant little bitch scream.”

“You really just don’t deal with rejection well, do you?” asked Methos.  “This is the reason I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s body.”

Ishtar snarled.

“I’d be worried about it, except that you can’t take my daughter in a fair fight – and in an unfair one she will dismantle you to the ground.”

“I will _destroy_ you, Enkidu.  I will kill every Immortal and pre-Immortal here, and broadcast your identity to the whole of the Federation!  Shamhat and Gilgamesh’s bloodline will end and Halcyon will come to utter _ruin._ ”

“Ah, I suppose that will be the final evil diatribe I hear from you,” Methos affected a bored tone. “You forget that I’m not Duncan.  The mass murder of innocents does little more than cause me some mild heartburn. If all you can do is blow hot air, I’m going to disconnect this call.  Interstellar Subspace rates can get so expensive.”

He disconnected on Ishtar’s outraged scream, sitting back in the command chair for a moment and closing his eyes.  It was possible that Tia would be unable to take Ishtar.  Methos was sure that the madwoman had chosen her ground with at least some care, but Tiamat was both cunning and resourceful, and her rage had always been like a supernova encased in the impossible cold of the void.

There was nothing he could do from here, so he turned his attention to what he did have under his control.  He hailed the _Enterprise_ , noting the stiff standoff between Duncan and dismissing it.

“Duncan, has security pulled all of the injured and survivors from the area of the breach?”

“I don’t know,” said Duncan. “The Captain is being chary about what his crew has accomplished in that area.”

“Of course he is,” said Methos.  “Kirk, don’t be an idiot.  There’s no reason to sacrifice crew if it’s not necessary.”

“Who the fuck are you people?”

“We’re Immortals,” snapped Methos.  “And right at the moment, we’re Immortals that are attempting to prevent further damage to your crew and your ship.  Now, I’m going to blow the airlock on the boarding pod and move it away from the _Enterprise_ , so for the love of what you might find holy, or at least important, _has your crew been evacuated?_ ”

“You can’t do that,” came Uhura’s voice.  “What security footage we’ve seen shows them in standard body armor, not vacuum suits.”

“No shit, really?” said Methos.  “I never would have thought of that, blowing unprepared people into space.  Oh, wait, yes I would because that’s the plan.  Now it can be the enemy, or you can subject your crew to friendly fire, but either way I’m removing the threat and their avenue of retreat.”

“Methos.”

“Yes, Duncan?”

“I’m glad to see you back.”

“Asshole.  I don’t even know why I like you.”  He turned his gaze to Kirk.  “I’m perfectly capable of taking complete control of your ship, Kirk.  Chop, chop.”

“He’s not actually kidding about that,” murmured Duncan.

“Yes, they’re clear,” said Kirk resentfully. “All except for the crew that were trapped in the locations where the boarding pods breached the hull.”

“I’m sorry,” said Methos.  “They’re already dead, aren’t they?”

“Herded up and shot,” said Duncan, “as an object lesson as to why Kirk should obey Brogan’s demands.”

“I’m glad I took his head, then.”

Duncan gave him mirthless smile.

“How are they doing on cutting through the bulkheads to get further into the ship?”

“Badly,” said Kirk.  “The ship will hold.”

“Good,” said Methos, slaving the navigation and controls of the pods to the console before him.  “Let’s give them a small surprise shall we?”

 

Áedán swore colorfully as Tia’s priority distress signal blared from the commconsole.

“The site is in emergency contamination lockdown and will begin sterilization procedures in fifteen.”

“That’s at least mildly unfortunate,” said Nike.  “Arthfael –”

“Is needed up here.  I’ll grab Ba’al and some crew to help evacuate whomever might actually be left. From what I hear, Cassandra prefers to leave a trail of bodies.”

“No,” said Nike.  “Leave Ba’al up here if you’re planning to head to the surface.  I doubt Cassandra’s plan was limited to destroying Seraph IX and blowing the Site.”

“Y’think she left us some surprises then?”

“Oh, I know she tried,” said Nike.  “But I’d rather that Ba’al and Arthfael double check the system now that she has undoubtedly attempted to invoke whatever protocols she thought were necessary.”

“Have you an’ Tia been keepin’ secrets, Nike?”

“Only a little.” Nike’s eyes blazed like the heart of a star.  “Get you going, Áedán.  Rescue what you can.”

Áedán got moving, gathering crewmembers as he went.

“Right then,” he said as they hit the transporter bay.  Computer, twelve to the last used coordinates.  Go.”

There was a familiar flash as they materialized on the surface, just in time for a dozen children, barely into puberty flooded into the room, their combined aura’s shrieking with confused agony.

“That _bitch._ ”  Áedán put two fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply.  “Right.  Starfleet, out of the way, we’ll be taking care of this.”

“The starlight lady said to come here,” said a pale-eyed girl who looked achingly like a young, barely pubescent Tiamat.  “She said – she said she was going to try and find out why Lady Cassandra would do this to us.”

The girl drew in a deep breath, lips quivering slightly before she pressed them together in a tight line.

“Aye, she’ll doubtless do that, lass.”  He held his hands out to the children, aching, aching, _aching_ for what he knew was to come.  “Come w’ me and I’ll take you up.  I swear to you, we’ll do all we can t’ensure that you’ll be safe from now on.”

“Right!” shouted Ngyuen Phuong.  “We’ll clear the rooms.  You know what to do, ladies and gents, get to it!  Will you be coming back down?”

Áedán looked over at the Starfleet Security officers, most of whom looked out of their depth and sighed softly.  Lt. Athk’q, however, wore an expression of extraordinary determination.  “We hope that these are not the only survivors – we have found none in these outer rooms, and must go farther within.  I take my men and we meet you in ten minutes, for transport up, yes?”

“Yeah, good.  Move fast.  This place is designed to be cleansed with fire.  I’d survive that, you would not.”

The Lieutenant’s nose twitched.  “Yes.  This, it is good to know.  We go!”

“Tag all the computers and data equipment you can,” said Áedán lowly.  “We’ll be wantin’ it for investigation later, I’m thinkin’.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Right then.” Áedán gathered the children into a group and thumbed his comm open.  “Arthfael, thirteen, centered on me.”

 

Tiamat, no longer slowed by Spock’s presence, flowed through the base like a raging storm, energy crackling around her. The burns left by the hefty doses of radiation healed quickly, much faster, she suspected, than Cassandra would have expected.

Then again, Cassandra had never really deigned to learn the abilities of others.  It was the second warning that Tia should have heeded.  The first warning was that Methos and Ba’al had put so much effort into trapping Ishtar in a cavern deep under a mountain.

Like any teen – or Immortal of a thousand years or less – Tia had thought she knew better, had thought the revenge her parents had enacted upon Ishtar in the name of Tia and her mother was too much.  In all the centuries since, she hadn’t really considered that it might not have been enough.  That the punishment might never have been sufficient.

But Tia wasn’t a child any more.  Her idealism was long dead.

As she stalked deeper into the facility, she encountered fewer bodies and more sinister equipment.  Rooms that doubtless purported to be for medical research, but looked more like ancient torture chambers.  Water-tight boxes, where a person could be trapped and flooded under over and over again.  Racks from which a body might hang and be beaten.  Tables with little drainage holes for the blood, and tools with which one could, ever-so-delicately, peel skin away from flesh, layer by layer.  Beds equipped with electroshock equipment and intimate ‘probes’ to be wielded upon those bound upon them. Rooms with nothing sinister within, which made them that much more frightening.

And the stasis boxes.  Row after row, room after room.  Some empty, some beeping softly, holding their charges asleep therein.

Tia slowed as she reached what appeared to be a larger room, and pushed the door open carefully.

“Finally,” said Ishtar, standing in the middle of what appeared to be a large operating theatre, with windows high above for viewing.  “I thought you’d never get here, my lovely dragon.”

“Festering pustule of a disease-ridden jackal,” said Tia, slipping into the room.

“Is that any way to treat your lady and goddess?” asked Ishtar, pouting.  “You need only give over to me, Tia, and all of this stupid bickering between myself and your fathers will end.  I’ll let them get on with their lives and we can all live happily ever after.”

“Do you take me for an idiot or a fool, I wonder?” Tia dropped her hands to her sides.  “You’ve never wanted me but to score points off of my fathers, and my cunt is no more magical than that of any other woman’s.  You can’t think I believe that you’ve been craving it for five thousand years.”

“You’re very beautiful, Tia,” said Ishtar, eyes flowing hotly down her body.

“Pull the other one,” said Tia, meeting Ishtar’s eyes.  “It’s got bells on it.”

Ishtar’s lips curled in an ugly snarl.

“Give in, and I won’t touch that pretty little bitch of yours, and I’ll even consider letting your fathers live.”

“I think not.” Tia raised her right hand, the one holding a bright blade dulled with green blood.  “I wouldn’t fuck you with someone else’s fake body parts, much less anyone’s fleshly organs.”

“Just like your mother,” said Ishtar, “and she was sworn to my service.  You belong to me by your very blood!”

“I belong to no one but myself.”

“Then you will die as she did, helpless and begging.”

Quick as a snake Ishtar raised a military-grade stunner, firing it in a wide beam at Tia.

Tia blinked the light out of her eyes, raising her left arm and pulling a trigger in the same smooth motion.  Ishtar’s head snapped forward, a small bloody hole appearing in her forehead as the back of her skull blew out.  Tia re-holstered the ancient 9mm as she approached Ishtar’s body.

“But the real reason I won’t fuck you,” she told the corpse, “Is because you’ve spent far too much time _fucking stupid._   If you’d ever stopped letting idiocy fill your cunt with its juices, you might have had a chance of becoming more tolerable.  With luck, we’ll manage to pull out the dumbfuck dispenser you lodged up Duncan’s ass.”

Tia took Ishtar’s head, dropping to the floor as the lightning-filled white cloud of an ancient quickening rose from the body.  She closed her eyes as it struck, over and over, the unspooled hatred of six thousand years grounding itself through her.  Ishtar’s spirit _burned_ as it settled within her, aching and throbbing like a rotting tooth.  Tia wept, unashamed, for all of the things that Ishtar had never been, for all the lessons that she’d refused to learn, for the rigidity that had made Immortality the greatest curse that could have been laid upon her.

The remaining flames of Ishtar’s personality wavered and fell to ash as Tia’s tears fell in a cleansing cascade, wailing her grief and her impotent rage.  A comforting hand ran down her back, a strange-familiar-strange voice murmuring nonsense in her ear.  Tia turned into the offered embrace, glimpsing an age-worn face, beautiful in its lines of survival and pain.

The face was unfamiliar, but the spirit within was not.

“Erishti,” she whispered turning her face into the offered shoulder.

“Shhhh, child.” Strong arms rocked her like an infant.  “Sleep.”


	10. Archive 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Endings and beginnings

 

Datafile 10

Spock woke slowly to the soft beep of medical monitors.  He felt… odd.  Strange.  Peculiarly energized in a way that he had never experienced before.  Taking a slow, deep breath, he sat up and allowed his gaze to sweep around the unfamiliar medical bay, only to find Nike sitting next to him, reading a paper book.  A small frown touched his lips as he found he ached to touch it, to make a connection to something so old, so fragile, and yet so enduring.

“Do you read Middle English?” Nike asked.

“I am afraid that I do not.”

Nike marked her place with an embroidered bookmark of white silk and she turned to him with a small, regretful smile.

“Perhaps you should learn,” she told him.  “At this point you will have a great deal of time.”

“I do not understand.”

“I know.” Her flame-blue eyes held his.  “And the truth of it is, you never will, Spock of Vulcan.  You will never understand the why of it, or the how.  None of us do.  We are as we are, with little rhyme or reason.”

“You are saying that I am like you.  An… immortal.”

She nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“I am an Augment.” Spock said it without bitterness, despite all that it would mean when the information got out.

“No,” said Nike.  “Because the term is… inaccurate. There were people that were altered using aspects of our genetics, a few that were paraded around to show the success of genetic treatment.  There were a few children created with the intent to duplicate what made an immortal, Immortal outside of the known pre-immortal bloodlines.  And, of course, the Heralds –” Nike’s eyes dimmed with grief “—but none of those _Augmented_ humans passed their enhanced abilities along.”

“It seems unlikely that none of them had children.”

“They did not, because they could not,” said Nike.  “All Immortals, once they have passed their first death, are infertile.”

Spock took a sharp breath.

“But the problem was not so much with Immortal infertility, as it was with the fact that much genetic treatment was in its infancy and there were often unintended or lethal side-effects.  Or, in the case of many of the originally engineered children – the lethal side effect of science, where the scientist doesn’t recognize the subject as being a person.  Despite efforts, we’ve never been able to determine how many children were killed in the attempt to determine when the potential for immortality is actually triggered, and how.”

“But we found children.”

“Yes,” said Nike.  “Children who have passed far enough into puberty to be fertile, who may, in theory, have already passed their genes along.”

“They have experienced their first deaths,” said Spock, thoughtfully.

“Yes.  And they will not age or have children.”

“They will not… grow up.”

“Oh, they’ll grow up, Spock.  You can’t live for centuries and not grow up.” Nike’s expression was still and neutral. “But their physical bodies will remain unchanged and they will find it very difficult to be accepted for who they are and who they will become if they remain within the Federation.”

“It is very difficult to believe.”

She stared at him.

“You watched them revive, did you not?”

“Yes.  But it seems unlikely to me that the claims you make of Immortality could be real.  There are no such beings among Vulcans.”

“Well,” said a smooth male voice from the doorway.  “We’re not Vulcan.  I see that you are doing well, Commander.”

“I am functional,” said Spock, studying the dark-haired man.

“You’re better than functional,” said the man.  “I am Ba’al, and this is my Infirmary, at least for the moment.”

“Doctor.  If I may enquire, why did Dr. Balsdottir stab me?”

“Because there was no guarantee that if she let the radiation kill you you’d wake up,” said Nike.  “Not all deaths are equal, when it comes to triggering Immortality, Commander.”

“I see.” Spock considered it.  “She chose to grant me Immortality instead of death.”

“If you want to die, that _can_ be arranged, but Tia is rather of the opinion that you’re going to be important for a number of years, so she chose to err on the side of your survival.”

 

“So what you’re telling me,” said Kirk, staring at ‘Dawson’ disbelievingly, “is that Immortals are real, the history of the Eugenics Wars is completely fucked up, and I’m going to have a really, really long time to think about it.”

“That about sums it up, yeah.” Dawson shrugged.  “It is what it is, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“Lad, when eight hundred years you reach, look this good you totally will.  You’re not going to age, you won’t get sick, and you’ll heal miraculously from most fatal injuries.  You’ve already done it once.”

“That was McCoy and Khan’s blood.”

Dawson shook his head.  “No, that was your own Immortality emerging.  If anything dosing you with Khan’s blood made the transition longer and more painful.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Dawson sighed.

“Right.  Demonstration time.” His wrist twitched and a small, bright blade dropped into his hand.  He handed it over to Kirk.  “So, stab me.”

_“What?”_

“It’s a practical demonstration, just don’t take my head off, or Methos will likely come over here and slaughter you and your entire crew.”

“Right.  The guy who was death.”

“Yes.  The guy who was death.  Who likes beer, sex, and fucking with people’s expectations.  Now, stab me.”

“This is crazy,” said Kirk, staring down at the blade.

“Just do it, it doesn’t have to be a lethal injury if you don’t want to go that far.  I just don’t want you to accuse me of trickery.”  Dawson took off his uniform shirt and stood before him bare chested.

Fuck.  He was really kind of pretty.  And willing to let him stab him, something that shouldn’t be a turn on but totally was.

“Okay.  Fine.  But if I have to go to Bones because you bled out and didn’t get back up, I’m going to be pissed.”

“You’re already pissed,” said Dawson.  “And if you’re going to be spearing me with a knife, I think you can call me Duncan.”

Kirk lunged forward, taking Duncan high on the ribs.

“Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod?” he asked in a faintly mocking tone.

“Aye.” Duncan disarmed him with unnatural speed and strength, lightning blazing along the cut on his ribs as it healed almost in a flash.  “I don’t much care for living under other names, but as has been pointed out to me, mortals are not especially tolerant of those who are different, and Immortals are, perhaps, the most entirely different beings, for all that we look the same and come from the same stock.”

Kirk stared at the healed skin on Duncan’s chest, stilling.

“There’s no scar.”

“No,” said Duncan.  “I haven’t gained a scar since I first died in 1622.”

Kirk touched the skin.

“I haven’t had an allergy attack in a year,” he says quietly.  “Bones thinks I’m being especially good about what I eat and come in contact with, but… I just don’t react, not anymore.”

“Have your injuries healed rapidly?  Incidental things like scrapes or bruises?”

“How can this be?” Kirk asked softly.

“No one knows.” Kirk shot him a bitter look and Duncan pulled away, giving him space.  “Look, compared to Lady Nike, I’m a stripling, and compared to Methos I’m an infant and you’re still an embryo.  So far as anyone knows, he’s the eldest of us, and he doesn’t know the reasons any more than you do.”

“I don’t want it.  And if anything is said about it, they’ll take everything.” Kirk stared out the window, brooding.

“So don’t tell them,” said Duncan.  “You’ll need McCoy in your pocket, but medical ethics isn’t his strong suit anyway, and the man would doubtless leap off a cliff for you.  Oh, wait, I believe he _has_ leapt off cliffs for you.”

“If he doesn’t hate me for being an Augment.”

“Well, you’ll just have to bring him around.”

“You don’t know Bones if you think it’ll be that easy.”

“Lad, I think you don’t know yourself that well if you don’t think you can do it.”

 

It took the best part of two days to limp the Enterprise into the dock at Seraph IX, and to say the admiralty was displeased by the fact the Kirk had managed to put holes in the Enterprise before even _getting_ to Seraph Station was putting it mildly.

Methos watched the drama from a corner, as Admiral Archer and Admiral Komack chose to go at it via subspace relay, ignoring their audience and having screaming conniptions over what might as well have been a public comm link.  Tia came up to him and linked an arm through his, pulling him gently away.

“Looking for Ba’al?”

She laughed softly.  “No, Papa, I was looking for you.  There’s a girl in the _Enterprise_ infirmary that we need to speak to before Dr. McCoy gets completely out of hand.”

“Lt. Eydoun, if I remember right.”

“Yes.”  Tia sighed.  “She’s fortunate that it’s not medically obvious that she was dead instead of unconscious before they got her to McCoy, but she’s not safe here.  She doesn’t have the protections that Kirk and Spock enjoy, and Federation security will be pleased to have a known _Augment_ turned over to them.”

“I know.”  The argument faded behind them.  “How long until we leave?”

“Áedán and Arthfael have already made copies of all the data we found planetside, and they’ve made some… artful changes to it, or so they say.  That worm that Khan wrote, all those years ago, managed to catch and neutralize a rather frightening datapacket that Ishtar apparently intended to be released to ’Fleet and the media – yet another fucking variant of your damn database, and honestly, what were you thinking?”

“At the time I was thinking it was cool, mostly.  It was brought to my attention that it was a bad fucking idea, and Duncan brought down the power grid of Paris just to stop its dissemination, so I’ve heard enough about that, thank you very much.”

“And I really have no room to talk, as there’s a continuously updating version in the Archive.”  Tia sighed.  “I’m glad to be going home.  Gladder still that we’ve managed to rescue at least some of the people that were being held captive here – but…”

“It’s letting go of Earth.”  Methos pulled her in close.  “Halcyon sings to me the way Terra did, when we were young.  It’s not lost under concrete and greed and blood.  It calls me home the way our homeworld hasn’t since humanity was young.”

“I know.” Tia leaned in to him.  “I love her, though. I love Earth.”

“And maybe, someday, she’ll love us again.” Methos kissed the crown of her head.  “After all, we have nothing but time.”

“Come on then,” said Tia, pulling away and grabbing his hand.  “Let’s go rescue Lt. Eydoun.”

 

**Upload complete**

**Repair initiated…**

**…Repair Complete.**

**Datafile 01.000000**

 

When he woke, it was to the music of long gone days, flutes sighing ancient tunes over the base and heavy rhythm of primal drums.  The air was sweet with unknown flowers and faintly moist, as though the sun had come out after a heavy rain.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” said a smooth alto.

Khan turned his head, meeting the pale-eyed gaze of Tiamat, Ba’al’s daughter, and his breath caught in ancient, ancient anguish.  “Tiamat.”

“Father,” she said simply, raising his hand to her cheek.  “I’m so glad to finally have a chance to meet you.”

“Daughter.”  He traced the smooth skin with his fingers, gathering up her tears.  “Why cry for me?”

“I have ever wept for you, Gilgamesh Storm-eyed,” said Shamhat’s daughter, the child he’d sired in lust and compassion, the instrument by which he and Enkidu had pried their lover away from Isthar-the-Beautiful.  “Whyfor would I not?  You gave me life and suffered for it, without surcease that I could grant you.  I have wept for you and for the love my papa bears you.”

“Khan,” he says softly, wiping her tears away.  “Gilgamesh is dead and long dead.”

“Then Khan you shall be,” her smile broke like sunlight through a storm, and he could feel the pull of her, like the distant stars, raising him up so that he might become better.  “I am Tia to those I love and those who love me.”

He smiled.  “Tia.”

She helped him sit up, laying a pile of simple, airy clothing at the foot of the bed.

“Welcome home, father.”

“Home?” asked Khan, taking in the ivory-pale walls and plush appointments of the unfamiliar room.

“Home if you want it,” she corrected herself with a small, bashful smile.  “When you’re ready, just come down the hall to the kitchen, we’ve got food waiting.”

“Where is home?”

“We’re in the settlement of Uruk, in Euphrates River Province, on the planet we’ve named Halcyon.”

He stared at her.

“We’ve got sheep,” she said with a cheeky smile before darting out the door.

Khan rose slowly, stretching out long-disused muscles with a grateful sigh.  He put on the dark trousers and soft linen shirt, somehow not surprised that they fit him perfectly in the way he preferred.  Clothed, if barefooted, he made his way out the door, turning toward the sound of voices and joyful laughter.

He stood at the entryway, uncertain of his welcome as he saw many faces, familiar and unfamiliar both, laying food out upon the table.

“Come in,” called Nike, a wide and almost completely unfamiliar smile upon her lips. “Don’t hover like a timid cat, Khan.  Come in and be welcome.”

He strode in, trying to regain confidence as a chorus of voices rose above the chatter.

“Dad!” “Papa-Khan!”

Five young-seeming adults broke away from the crowd, tackling him into the wall and he couldn’t find his breath.  “Pakel, Mhairi, Bes, Koral, Mina…  you’re alive?”

“Yes, Papa-Khan!”  Mhairi, the youngest of all of the Heralds wrapped him in a tight embrace. “You were right!  We went to sleep and when we woke up we were home!  The others are here, too, but we didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

He held her close, the hazel-eyed child that had reminded him so much of Enkidu’s strength and Enkidu’s honor, even when she had never known the man whose seed had been used to give her life, and tears fell from his eyes as his legs gave out.  “Not dead.  They didn’t kill you.”

“No, papa-Khan,” said Pakel, his hand gentle on Khan’s shoulder.  “They didn’t kill us.”

“They were a little too useful for that,” came a familiar baritone. “Shoo, children, I need to speak to your father.”

“Balathu.”

“Ba’al,” the dark-eyed man corrected him stiffly, offering him a hand up.  “There’s going to be a party later.  You’re expected to be there and if you’re not you will be hunted down and shamed until you arrive.  Just be forewarned.”

“Ba’al.  I don’t know how to even begin to beg your forgiveness.”

Six thousand years gape between them, old wounds splitting open and spewing their festering ooze.

“Don’t bother, forgiveness isn’t really my thing,” said Ba’al.  “But… Halcyon is about new beginnings, and burying what is dead and long dead.  The Gilgamesh I met is gone and long gone – I knew it the first time they broadcast your regime. Gilgamesh was a fool who allowed corruption and madness to consume all that was good within his demesne, and did not see it until it was too late.  Khan was a man pushed into a power he did not want – but in his reluctance did what was necessary, even when it was decried as evil and despotic.  He rooted out corruption and waste and tried to return honor and peace to the people in his care.  I cannot care for Gilgamesh, but I think Khan is someone I can learn to deal with – even like – provided one small thing.

“My best friend is in the library upstairs.  He has lived a long, long life filled with horror and beauty, love and despair, hatred and joy. He was once in love with a great king, and sacrificed everything he was, everything he might have grown to be, to seek justice – and eventually vengeance – for what was done to his king and to his king’s people.

“If you ever – and I do mean _ever_ – harm him the way you did in Britain, I will rip the lungs from your body and hang you upside-down on a tree, and flay the flesh from your bones.”

Khan nodded slowly.

“So, not so much a new beginning, so much as probation.”

Ba’al rolled his eyes.  “There’s a lot of leeway between trying to keep my friend happy and sending him into suicidal despair, idiot.”

“Ah.”

“Also, I threaten everyone with that. It weeds out the utter cowards.”

Khan choked on a laugh.

“Come on, let’s get you some food that you can take up to him as a peace offering.”

The two men headed over to the table only to be stopped by Nike, who was holding a basket of goodies.  On one side of her was a woman of southeast Asian descent, whose first death had to have occurred when she was a grandmother or a great-grandmother, and on the other was a painfully young girl with ebony skin and knowing, pale eyes.  The three of them smiled in an odd kind of unison, and Khan’s breath caught as his vision overlaid them with three other women who had once tried to warn him of Ishtar’s madness and duplicity.

“Erishti, Zakiti, Arahunna…”  Beyond the girl’s shoulder stood another woman, with long, earthen brown hair and eyes filled with starlight. “Shamhat.”

“We told you once,” said the girl, her voice like wind through distant trees.  “That He was Ours, one of Erishti’s Chosen as you were one of Ninsun’s.”

“I am sorry.”

“Do not be,” said Nike, eyes filled with flame and compassion. “Boundless beginnings We saw for him, and endless endings, these things have not changed.”

“And we regret nothing that He has done to bring Us here,” said the eldest-seeming them, her smile like water in the desert.  “Nor any act of yours.”

Nike handed him the basket, and the two other women broke away, melting into the growing crowd of Immortals and pre-Immortals.

“Go and find him,” she said.  “Make a new beginning.”

 

Khan found his quarry in the uppermost tier of the library, calmly shelving tomes almost as old as civilization.

“Food isn’t per—” Methos paused, “—mitted in the library, and you would be the only person in the House that I haven’t said that to, so I suppose you get a pass.”

“Hi.”

Methos stared down at him from his perch on the ladder, mouth gaping slightly.

_“HI?”_

Methos slid down the ladder, landing with a loud thump and punched Khan in the shoulder, which Khan figured was a relatively good sign.

“Asshole!”

“Yes.” Khan admitted.  “I’m sorry.”

He stared at Methos blankly, heart too full to articulate anything he wanted to say.  _I’m sorry_ was hardly enough to cover the mistakes that had gotten Shamhat killed, and Ba’al’s clan almost destroyed.  _I’m sorry_ could not encompass the moment he’d threatened near-eternal torment for a crime that had been committed against Methos as much Eideann and Arienh.  _I’m sorry_ could not swallow up every time he’d felt Methos nearby and had not gone on his knees to beg forgiveness.

“Want to wrestle?”

Khan gaped at him, almost dropping the basket of food.

“What?” asked Methos defensively.  “It worked before.”

“Sure,” said Khan. “But not here, I think.”

“Of course not,” said Methos.  “Come on, it’s a nice enough day out, we can go outside.”

“After you.”

“You just want to look at my ass,” said Methos.

“Well, yes,” admitted Khan, following behind.  “But I also have no idea how to get around this place.”

 

Methos led him through what turned out to be a large complex that housed many of the Immortals currently living in Uruk.

“Eventually it will be a kind of community center and visitor’s hostel, but for now it keeps the children close and we can explain to them what their choices are and what Immortality is.”

“Are there many pre-immortals?”

“More than I would have thought,” said Methos, ushering him into a private garden.  “More Immortals, too.  We’ve been offering them refuge for the last hundred years as we located them.  Not all want to leave the Federation for the wilds of ‘unsettled’ space – but we give them a means to escape if they’re outed to Federation Security.  But the numbers have been dropping off in the last quarter century, and we’re not sure why.  Tia thinks that we’ve reached some kind of saturation level.  Cassandra – Cassandra postulated that we would find the need to slaughter one another to fulfill the nature of the Game.  I kept wanting to punch her.  It hasn’t been like that at all.”

“It feels very peaceful here.”

Methos nodded, stripping off his shirt, revealing the same, sinewy strength that had conquered Khan so long ago. Khan set the basket of food aside in a small, shaded alcove, pulling off his own shirt and tossing it aside.

“Shall we?” he asked, pasting on his most outrageous and arrogant smirk.

Methos laughed and grabbed him, attempting to pin him to the ground.  Centuries, then millennia melted away and they became two men contesting strength against strength, cunning against cunning in a way more ancient than they themselves.  Khan growled upon the realization that Methos was going easy on him – a consideration for the time that Methos had not spent flying a ship alone and without companionship, only to find himself taken by vicious and ill-willed mortals, so similar to the ones he had fled.

His snarl echoed through the small garden, and he used his slightly greater weight to get Methos pinned beneath him.  Methos flashed a mocking smile, lunging up to steal a kiss so violently sweet that Khan shuddered, losing control of the hold as Methos devoured him, biting and sucking his way down Khan’s chest, to pull his now sweaty and grass-stained trousers off.

Methos’ mouth was just as he remembered it and yet strangely alien.  Centuries had passed since he last had the comfort of another’s touch and he cried out his astonishment when the wet, slick heat of Methos’ throat closed around him, swallowing rhythmically.  He buried his hands in his lover’s hair and _pulled_ , as wet, slick fingers slid into him, curling to rub unerringly at the place that made galaxies unravel behind his eyes.  His release, when it came, was a nova of pleasure that _sang_ , projecting beyond the boundaries of his body to reverberate between them.

Methos rose above him, like floodwaters bearing down.  Khan pulled him into a kiss as that thick, familiar cock slid deep, owning him far more surely than pretty words spoken by poisonous tongues.  They rocked together, hard and fast, deep and yearning, and when Methos crested, his floodwaters swept away all before him.

 

 

They lay on the grass, letting the sweat of their exertions dry in the late morning breeze.  Methos listened to the familiar-alien beat of Khan’s heart and knew – oh, how he knew, he’s had centuries to learn – that a bout of sex wouldn’t fix the many, many things that lie between them.  Forgiveness had never been high on his list of attributes, but he had thought himself long past the mistakes and betrayals and utter foolishness that torn them apart.

He had never quite understood Nike.  Nike who did not _like_ him, but has always seemed to have forgiven him his errors with her children.  It was worse now, since whenever he looked at her he saw the echoes of Zakiti’s fire and wondered how he could have _missed_ it for all these centuries.  Then again, for all of the pent up rage that burned behind Nike’s eyes, she had always been pragmatic when she was not off fighting battles she shouldn’t be able to win.

Khan tugged at his hair, pulling him up for a long, languorous kiss.

“We probably shouldn’t have done that,” Methos muttered, burying his face against Khan’s neck.

“When have we ever done things that we should have?”

Methos paused.  “When I fucked Shamhat the first time.  I totally _should_ have done that and I’m glad I did.”

“Hmmm,” the sound rumbled through Khan’s throat and chest.  “The time we tied her up and fucked her on my throne.”

“Any of the times we shared a meal with her, whether or not we had sex later.”

“Any time we spent with her, together or separately,” Khan agreed.

“I miss her,” said Methos.

“Do you suppose she might be like the triumvirate?”

Methos sat up, curling into himself.  He tried to block out the memory of pale, knowing eyes.

“I don’t know.  I don’t know that I want to know.”

Khan draped himself along Methos’ back, a blanket of comfort and Methos leaned into him.

“We should sort ourselves out first.”  Methos turned his head, brushing Khan’s lips softly, feeling Khan’s smile curve beneath his own.

“Lay a strong foundation?” Grey eyes gleamed with what had always been a rare joy.

“Yeah.  Then we build our new beginning.”


End file.
